


The Fever

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Could be Dangerous, Doctor John Watson, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, John's blog, M/M, Nurse's Uniform, Sherlock Is Cheeky, Sherlock Is Poorly, Sherlock's Dating Advice, Sherlock's Innocence, Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock quickly moved from strangers to flatmates to colleagues to friends. When a fever forces them into a doctor-patient relationship, however, the shift may have consequences that last well beyond any illness or treatment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Tries To Fix Sherlock's Problem

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock was smart enough to know when something wasn't right with him, but he wasn't always clever enough to know how to make what's wrong right again. It had started a few days ago. First it was an itch in his throat, but that might have been because he had recently been doing some shouting. Then his body ached, but that might have been caused by his lack of sleep. However, this evening, about an hour after John had left for one of his dates with one of his women, Sherlock was hit by a fever and he knew his shouting and/or sleeping habits did not cause fevers. Something was not right and he needed help to fix it.

_You are needed at home. SH_

It had been a long time since John had gone out on a date. He'd been borderline thinking about giving up, and just when wasn't looking, Amanda had come along. She was funny and smart and worked as a secretary at a local medical supply store. She had just excused herself to the bathroom when John's phone buzzed, making him groan softly.

_I am not needed until tomorrow morning. Leave me alone. -JW_

_Why would I lie? Come home please. It may be an emergency. SH_

_But it's not an emergency. I'm enjoying my date. -JW_

_Are you though? I find that hard to believe. SH_

_I am not well. I need you. SH_

_Sherlock, you were fine this morning. Please give me until tomorrow morning. -JW_

_Already confident this will be an all-nighter? SH_

_I've not been fine, I've just not said anything. I didn't want to alarm you. SH_

_However, my body is freezing but my temperature is high. At least suggest treatment. Hippocratic oath and all. SH_

_There's medicine in the bathroom mirror. -JW_

_Tried that. That's the best your years of medical training can do? SH_

_Get some blankets and try and sweat out the fever. -JW_

_She's back now, I have to go. -JW_

_I am already covered in sweat. It's not pretty. SH_

_That was quite a long toilet break. Ask if she's got an infection before you bed her. SH_

_I will check in later. SH_

Sherlock stood up and went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. While he waited for the kettle, he moved to the mirror to examine his face. It did not look well. He did not feel well. He poured his tea, sat down and wrapped a blanket around his body. Despite his chill, it did not help. He was damp with sweat and the blanket felt unpleasant against his skin. He picked up his phone.

_It is later and I am still unwell. Any other brilliant suggestions? SH_

John's phone was going mad in his pocket and he was distracted. Amanda could see that. She asked what was going on and John explained, laughing to brush it off. Instead, she assumed John was laughing at Sherlock's behaviour and proceeded to make fun of him. John got more upset than he should have and the date was over, just like that. 

_I'm coming home. -JW_

_Thank you. Will she be coming as well? SH_

_No. -JW_

John felt bad being short with Sherlock, but he tried to remember that Sherlock shouldn't have been bothering him in the first place. He was a grown man after all. But that small voice of guilt persisted. Why did he have such a soft spot for that man?

_Good. I'm too ill to be around someone with an infection. SH_

_Thank you, John. I'm sorry I'm unwell. SH_

John stomach twisted with guilt. 

_It's not your fault. -JW_

_I shouldn't have bothered you. But I got worried. I'm not good at being poorly. SH_

_Honestly. It's okay. -JW_

A few seconds later John was walking into the flat. He hung his jacket and toed off his shoes, looking into the sitting room. "Sherlock?"

"In my room," Sherlock called. "I would like you to come in but be careful. What if I'm contagious?" He had got into bed, but it hadn't helped at all. He was still too cold.

"I doubt that," John said, walking into his room. He truly looked miserable. John walked over and touched his forehead. "You're on fire," he said. 

"But I am freezing. Your hand feels warm on my head, I'm so cold within myself, your hand feels good. I followed your advice," he said, motioning to the blanket he left lying on the floor, "but even under the covers, I just feel so cold. It's horrible and not logical. Do you think I'm dying?"

"You're not dying, that's just how fevers are. Your body is so hot that everything feels cold."

"That doesn't sound very scientific. Why do I have a fever in the first place? I've not been around anyone sick. This is quite worrying, I can't remember the last time I was this unwell."

"Well, that's what you have," he announced. "I'll get more blankets. Want some tea? Soup?"

"More tea. Are you going to cook for me or make soup out of a tin? I don't even know if I feel like eating but there's a part of me that wants to request soup if it means you're going to cook," he smiled weakly. "I guess I'm still well enough to be demanding."

"I will make soup," he smiled. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair -- as naturally as if he'd been doing it all his life -- before leaving to cook for him. 

Sherlock smiled as John left the room. He knew it was probably not the right thing to have done -- demanding John return and then making him cook -- but somehow it made Sherlock feel better. It was like being looked after and although he usually claimed to hate that, a poorly Sherlock welcomed it.

John started the kettle and turned on the burner to make soup. Just like that his anger was gone. He looked up in the direction of Sherlock's room, shaking his head softly. He was always going to come home. He sighed and finished up, taking a tray to Sherlock's room. "You'll have to sit up for a bit," he said. 

Sherlock sat up, pulling the duvet to his lap. He took a sip of tea, which was too hot but felt good going down. "I took two paracetamol ninety-eight minutes ago. Should I take something else?" He stirred the soup with the spoon. "What kind of soup is this?"

"Just chicken noodle," John admitted. "And I will bring you the cold medicine," he said leaving again. 

Sherlock took a few spoonfuls of soup. When John returned, he said, "This is quite good, John. You should cook more . . . I mean, if you'd like to. I was not aware you could make such good food." He took another spoonful but couldn't look up to meet John's eyes as he added, "Thank you, John. I'm sorry I'm such a . . . child about some things."

John smiled. "I suppose it's okay, because you are sick."

"When do you think I'll start feeling better, Dr Watson? Because I find this quite intolerable and have no idea how I'm going to get through."

"We just have to break the fever," John said. 

"And we do that by . . .? Surely modern medicine has advanced enough to be able to sort that." He held out his hand to take the pills John had brought in. "Will these cure me then?"

John shook his head. "You just have to sweat it out," he said. "We have to make you hot enough to break it. I know it sounds backwards, but it works."

"Should I have a bath, maybe? Just the blankets haven't seem to have done the trick -- it's just made me all the more cold and clammy. At least in the bath, the sweat won't seem so . . . gross." He finished his soup and moved the tray to the side of the bed. He stood and realised he had wet patches on his pajamas. "See? Disgusting."

"The water won't stay warm for long, and sitting in a cold bathroom all wet won't help you."

Sherlock reached into his dresser drawer and took out clean pajamas. "Well, I will run out of clothes at this rate. I can't sleep in damp pajamas." He slipped off his shirt, put on a new one and then added his dressing gown. He turned away from John and quickly switched his pajama bottoms before climbing back into bed. "I know you've just got home, but could you stay with me a while? I know I can't sleep and I don't want to be sweaty and bored."

John glanced over at him. "Um . . . yeah, I'll stay," he nodded. "My mum used to bundle me up like a sausage," he smiled. 

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "I'm not sure I approve of that simile. Do you want to go get ready for bed?" Sherlock saw the look on John's face. "I'm sorry . . . you don't have to sleep here if you don't want. It's fine, I don't know what I was thinking really."

"It's just one night, right?" he shrugged, trying to play it off casually. "If you really want the company."

"Well, you're the doctor. If your supposed cure would just kick in, you could leave right now if you wanted. I just . . . hate feeling like this," he didn't want to look at John. It was embarrassing to need something, someone.

"I know . . . they usually break quick," he said standing. "Finish the soup and take your medicine and I'll be right back, okay?"

Sherlock fussed the other side of the bed. No one had ever slept in it with him before. He sniffed the air, worried that the whole room smelled of sickness. He tried to just relax a bit -- it was only John and it was only because of being sick. Talking would distract him and soon he'd feel better and John could go if he really wanted to. It was just a special circumstance.

John's usual sleep attire was just his pants and a t-shirt, but that was not going to happen tonight. He put on his t-shirt but grabbed a pair of plaid pajama pants. After brushing his teeth, he joined Sherlock again.

When John came in, Sherlock said, "If this is too weird for you, you could just sit and talk for a bit. I don't want it to be uncomfortable and I don't want . . . to make you ill as well."

"The fever isn't contagious. You're not coughing or sneezing, so I doubt you're spreading anything." John climbed up and put his legs under the covers, leaning on the headboard. "Bundle up, please."

Sherlock tried to pull the covers up around him without affecting John. "Perhaps two people in the bed will make it warmer." He turned on his side. "So your date . . . " he scanned his brain for this one's name but didn't find it, " . . . it didn't go well?"

"It had been going just fine," John said without thinking. He shook his head when it hit him. "I didn't mean -- it was her fault." It wasn't a complete lie.

"Was she the one I met last week? She didn't seem very interesting," Sherlock said quietly. He had no idea what John looked for in a woman -- surely John must have found something attractive about her to have seen her more than once. "I suppose my pestering you didn't really help things," he added, "sorry about that."

John nodded. "That was her. And no, it didn't exactly help, but I'm used to that. Like I said, in the end it was her fault."

"I know I am demanding on occasion," Sherlock said, "but this time it was medical and you're my doctor, I suppose. Did you tell her it was work-related? Do you think you'll see her again?"

"I didn't tell her it was work-related," John shook his head. "I just said my friend was sick and well," he shrugged and left it at that. "I won't be seeing her again. 

"I'm sorry I guess," Sherlock said, "if I ruined things. It wasn't my intention." He wondered about his intention: was it really just his illness? That's what he had been thinking it was but he had, of course, noticed that he ruined a number of John's dates. He wasn't as clear on why that kept happening. He rubbed his legs under the duvet; he still felt chilled even though he knew his skin was damp with sweat again. "Why do you go on so many dates?" he asked.

John noticed and tucked the covers more around him to keep him warm. "I go on dates to find . . . well, I don't know. Love, I guess. I want to be happy." He shook his head suddenly. "Not that I am not happy now. Of course I am. But it's a different kind, I guess."

"I guess I don't understand that desire," Sherlock admitted. "As you know, I'm not a huge fan of other people. You are enough for me." Did that sound strange? Was the fever affecting his brain? Sherlock hoped that John knew what he meant, because when he thought about it, he realised he did mean it.

John flushed and looked down at his legs. "It's different, you know?" He fiddled with his fingers. Wasn't that true for him, too? All the time he spent with Sherlock -- he was happy. He liked it. The only thing he wasn't getting, now that he thought about it, was sex.  

"I suppose I don't know, but that's fine, we're different people," Sherlock said, turning over and looking up at the ceiling. "You're not the first person to find my companionship . . . lacking. No one would blame you for wanting more."

"It's not -- " John's stomach twisted with guilt again. "It's not that you're lacking. It's just that -- the thing that's missing you can't give me."

Sherlock turned to look at John. "John, I don't doubt there are many things I can't give you. Giving is not really my strongest suit. I'm just grateful for what you give me." He looked away. "I should stop speaking probably, I don't think I'm making sense. I don't mean to doubt your skills, but perhaps this illness is more serious than you think. I can usually make myself clear."

John scooted down the headboard and lay down, facing Sherlock. "I meant physically," he said. "You give me a lot of things otherwise."

Sherlock thought for a moment and then realised what John meant. Strange, that wasn't something Sherlock really ever thought about and certainly not something he felt was a lack in his life. He looked back up at the ceiling. "This feels awkward. I know what you are talking about. Sorry I can't help you there. I feel kind of guilty now because you do take care of my physical needs: you feed me and make me feel bad if I don't sleep and now you're here, looking after me when I'm poorly. As I said, you're enough for me." He turned on his side, facing away from John. "Anyway, thanks. I'll do my best to not interrupt any more of your dates."

John reluctantly turned onto his back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up," he said quietly. And he knew he wasn't going to be dating again. Not any time soon. Because something was happening here and he needed to figure that out first. 

"Well, I brought it up, I suppose," Sherlock said. "I really feel like shite, John. I hate this. It's keeping me from my work. I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up feeling better."

"I know, I'm sorry," John said. He reached over and pat his shoulder. "We just have to . . . wait it out," he said. He really was sorry. He hated seeing Sherlock like this.

"Well, I suppose I should blame you. I've just explained you're in charge of my physical needs and apparently you've let me down if I'm sick now." He turned over and smiled. "I'm just kidding you."

John chuckled softly. "You should fire me," he said with mock seriousness. 

"You don't have to look after me, you know," Sherlock said seriously. "Don't ever feel obliged. I know I demand, but . . . Maybe you'd do a better job if I offered more payment," he added, smiling again. "If you can make me better in 24 hours, I'll find you a new date and not interrupt it at all."

John snorted a laugh. "Sorry, but I am not going to let you pick my girlfriend," he said. "And anyways, I'm going to take a break for a little bit."

"You should let me choose. Think about it. Reading people is one of my greatest skills -- you should take advantage of it, like I take advantage of your skills. I could suss out all her issues beforehand. Plus I probably know you better than you know yourself. You just look for what you think you'd like, but I'm more likely to know what you'd actually like."

John rolled his eyes playfully. "While I know your skills will be helpful, I want to take a break for a while, okay?" 

"All right, just keep it in mind as a genuine offer," Sherlock said. "Though obviously I benefit greatly from any break you take. I prefer not having to chase you when you are needed."

"Well, why don't I just marry you, then?" John teased. 

"I'd be happy to marry you if I meant I then had legal backing to demand your attention whenever I desired it. However, marriage itself -- to me or anyone else -- doesn't necessarily guarantee the thing you claim you are missing."

John laughed at that. "Yes, I know that, Sherlock. I was teasing," he said. "Come on now, you have to get some sleep. We have to break this fever."

"All right, I'll try, but I'm not confident," he snuggled down into the bed to get more comfortable. "Look, thanks for staying with me. If I go to sleep, you can leave if you want. With you here . . . I think it helps distract me." He tried to close his eyes and relax a little.

"I'll stay for the night -- until the fever breaks, okay?" John said, scooting a bit closer as he got comfortable. He tucked the blankets tighter around Sherlock. 

It was strange -- they'd live together for a while, did so many things together -- but this physical closeness seemed different. Because it didn't have a purpose really: they weren't hiding, running from something. They weren't doing anything, just trying to go to sleep and it seemed strangely intimate. Yet, Sherlock was glad John was here. Hopefully tomorrow he would feel more like himself and things could back to normal.

John was glad he had his own blanket, knowing that the heat radiating off of Sherlock was probably unbearable. But it would break tomorrow and Sherlock would get better and things would go back to normal. Maybe. He refused to think about his date tonight and kept pushing it away until he finally fell asleep. 

Sherlock kept his eyes closed, but didn't immediately fall to sleep. He heard John's breathing change and it was calming. He listened to it and tried to breathe the same way. His skin was still clammy, he was still a mixture of hot and cold, but he followed John's breathing until he too was asleep.


	2. Sherlock Tries To Fix John's Problem

When John woke up it took him a moment to remember where he was. Then he saw Sherlock who looked very pale. He reached out and touched his forehead. It was still very hot. "Hey," John said quietly, shaking him lightly. "Wake up."

Sherlock jolted at being touched. He instinctively pushed John away, but then he tried to process what was happening. "I don't feel better, John," he then said.

"I know. We have to change your clothes, you're soaked." John was going to have to get something more serious than regular cold medicine. 

Sherlock felt strangely embarrassed. It was weird waking up next to John, especially when he felt so gross and quite vulnerable. "I'll sort it. You don't have to keep looking after me." He sat up slowly in bed. "I need a shower. I feel disgusting."

"Cool water, okay? I'm going to the pharmacy to get you something a bit stronger. Dress in fabrics that breathe and I will be back soon, okay?" John said, slowly moving to the door.

Sherlock stood up and headed to the bathroom. He turned on the shower -- he couldn't face cool water so instead he just made it slightly less hot than usual. It felt good to be clean but even the pressure of the water hitting his skin made him ache a bit. This really wasn't good. Since John was out, he didn't bother with his dressing gown and walked back to his room. What were 'breathable' fabrics anyway? He just put on a t-shirt and another pair of pajama bottoms and then slipped his dressing gown on. He went down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

John consulted with the pharmacist and got something stronger for Sherlock. When he came home he heard the kettle and sighed. "No, Sherlock," John said when he found him in the kitchen. "You have to stay in bed."

"Oh my god," Sherlock moaned, dramatically throwing his arms in the air. "It's so boring in bed! This is intolerable, John. Fix me," he pleaded.

"Take this," he said, handing Sherlock the new medicine. "And go lie down please. I will finish this and meet you." 

Sherlock took the pills and swallowed them without liquid. "I don't know why I trust you -- didn't you guarantee I'd be better today? I'm sure I heard you say that. I'm not better, this seems like a malpractice issue. Can't I lie on the sofa? I need to be in the world, John. My room is not the world."

"Fine. I will bring the blankets," John said. 

"Thank you," Sherlock said. He flopped onto the sofa. It probably wasn't fair, but Sherlock quite liked John waiting on him hand and foot.

When John put the tea on the coffee table for him and brought out all four blankets from last night, draping them over Sherlock. 

"What are you going to do now? Are you going out? I don't even remember what day it is, do you have to go into work?" Sherlock leaned over to get his tea. "If you're going out, what should I do if I take a turn for the worse?"

"I'm not going out. I'm taking a couple days off," John assured him. 

"Don't do that on my account," Sherlock said. Now John was making him feel guilty and that was definitely not as fun. Then he suddenly said, "John, you're taking off work to look after me? So this is worse than just a cold? What is it then? Don't sugarcoat it."

"It's just a fever, I promise. If it was serious I would have taken you to the hospital. I just . . . want to be here," John assured him. He started tucking the blanket around Sherlock tightly. 

"I do appreciate it, John," Sherlock said. "So what's the plan? Are you just going to sit and look at me? Will that help?"

"Well, no," John said. "I'll just watch telly or read and just . . . keep an eye on you." 

"Well, what am I supposed to be doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Well . . . watch telly with me. Stay bundled up and take your medicine."

"You are being quite bossy, you know. Are you always like this with your patients?"

"My other patients just do as I say," John smiled. 

"Hmmm . . . I'm starting to get a new perspective on you. I think you went into medicine because you enjoy a good power trip, making people do what you say. I don't like being part of your mind games, John. You're taking advantage of my weakened state and are getting your jollies bossing me about. It's disgusting really," he said, drinking his tea.

John rolled his eyes. "I got into medicine because I like helping people. Just like I am helping you. In four hours you will take more medicine, and you will be fine."

"Last night you said that I just needed to sweat and I'd be fine. I was drenched in sweat all night and I'm not better. I did exactly what you said -- I _obeyed_ you -- and look where it's got me. Totally dependent on a man who gets off on bossing ill people. Was this whole thing part of your game plan?"

"Will you calm down? I said you needed to sweat it out, not just sweat. And I am not getting off on this. Just be patient."

Sherlock eyed John. "Don't lie to me, John. It's written all over your face. You want me to stay sick so you can have me trapped in the flat, obeying your every command. And covered in sweat. It's the greatest thing that has happened to you in months." He threw a pillow at John and wiggled on the sofa, trying to get more comfortable.

"It is not," John insisted. "I'm sorry you're sick. Honestly. And I'm trying everything I can to break your fever, okay?"

"Prove it," Sherlock said. "Prove how sorry you are."

"What? How? What do you want me to do?" John asked. "What more do you want me to do?"

Sherlock sat quietly thinking. "Well," he said finally, "I think you would appear more commanding and trustworthy if you appeared more hospital-like. Do you have a nurse's outfit in your bag? I think that if you came out in one of those, I would believe that you really cared."

John's brows shot up. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Surely you must have been taught that trust can benefit a patient's healing. I think you need to buck up your bedside manner, Dr Watson." He flopped his legs on the sofa. "Shouldn't I be drinking orange juice or something? Come on, John, at least try." He was finding hassling John quite entertaining.

"Do you want orange juice? Just tell me what you want and I will get it for you," John said. He crossed his arms and huffed out a breath. He was acting like a child!

"No," Sherlock said. "I hate orange juice." Then he came up with an idea. "If you're not going to actually help me, why don't you let me help you?"

"Help me what?" John asked. 

"Well, despite my being poorly last night, I was listening quite carefully. If I recall correctly, you said you were very happy except for your lack of sexual intercourse. Yet you go on dates all the time, it seems. So you must be doing something wrong. Perhaps I could help you."

"Are you offering me sex?" John asked. "I'm getting the thermometer because you're obviously delirious."

"You know if you said to that a real patient, you'd get struck off," Sherlock said. "I'm offering you my advice on how to get sex."

"Well . . . speak clearly," John sighed, his heart still beating madly. 

"Now obviously, I've never seen you in action, but knowing you as I do -- which is quite well, don't forget we actually slept together last night," he looked over at John, "-- I am guessing that while on a date, you try to be quite sweet. I think this may be your first mistake. I've seen you with women, you're always playing the sweet card, but I don't think you're quite as sweet as you think you are."

"Oh?" John asked, sitting down on the coffee table. "Please enlighten me then."

"Now that I've seen you 'try' to help me, I realise you are actually quite a sinister character. You should go with your strengths. Instead of trying to be sweet, you should let your inherent nastiness come out. Be the horrible bossy boots you've been since you got home last night. It obviously worked on me, didn't it? I obeyed you, didn't I?"

"You want me to demand women to have sex with me? Yes, that will work swimmingly," John laughed. 

"No, I'm not suggesting you do exactly what you did last night. After all, you did walk straight into the flat and drug me before forcing me to strip and get into bed with you. Don't do that, and if you do, I will not come bail you out of jail. I just mean, don't rely so heavily on your puppy dog eyes. Use your commanding voice instead." He glanced over at John. "Perhaps you should be writing this down?"

"I didn't -- " John flushed and huffed out a breath. "I was not drugging you! I am just trying to make you better! And no, I won't write this down. because I am not taking your advice! I am taking a break from dating."

"Come on, John, play along," Sherlock said, smiling. "I think this is helping me feel better. So let's say we're on a date. What would be your opening line? Remember, use a commanding voice but no puppy dog eyes." Sherlock turned so he was sitting properly on the sofa. "Give me your best go."

"I . . . " John shrugged. "I would tell you how nice you look."

"John, do it properly," Sherlock said in a stern voice. "Come on, don't tell me what you'd say, say it."

John sighed softly and forced his eyes up to Sherlock's. "You look really nice," he said. 

"Do you see? I used a commanding voice and you did exactly what I told you to do. I didn't rely on puppy dog eyes at all, did I? Fine, I look very nice. Seventeen different people this week have told me I look nice. What's going to make you different to them? What's going to make me think, yes, this is the one I will engage in sexual intercourse with?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "We usually just talk and -- and flirt and stuff. Your date knows the routine, the familiar dance of dating. It's all . . .the same, I guess." He deflated a bit. Suddenly dating seemed very sad and pointless. People getting together to run though a series of predetermined motions where any deviation deems you a 'weirdo'. "Um . . . maybe we'd go somewhere that wasn't a boring dinner."

"Listen to me, John, it isn't about where you go. Don't do a dance. It shouldn't be like that," Sherlock suddenly felt bad about joking around. "Look, you should just be yourself. You're a good man. Just be yourself. Are you really yourself on all these unsuccessful dates?"

John nodded. "Maybe it's just not for me." He smiled like he was joking, but he suddenly felt a bit depressed about it. "Cover yourself up," he said, waving his hand. 

Sherlock slid his legs back across the sofa and covered himself up. "Masturbation?" he asked.

John snorted out a laugh at how suddenly that came out. "Yes, I suppose that will have to do," he said as he tucked him in again. "I'm going to see if there's anything to make for dinner."

Sherlock watched John go into the kitchen. He felt bad he had made John feel bad. "So it's more than just the physical then? What you're missing, what I can't give you? It's something more?"

"It's . . . I don't know. Love, I guess," John called back. He found a box of spaghetti and decided that would be good enough. "It's hard to explain."  

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "Try. Please."

"It's just . . . love . . . all that clichéd, emotional stuff. Sentiment," John said. He realised as he was thinking about it that he would be describing his relationship with Sherlock: being excited to see them, wanting to spend time with them even if it's doing something odd (like visits to the morgue) and letting their bad habits slide (like body parts in the fridge) and wanting to take care of them and have them take care of you. Uh oh. Sherlock was smart and clever and sometimes funny and good to John and . . . oh. Well.

"I see," Sherlock said. "There's nothing wrong with wanting that. Many people do. So you're missing sentimentality and shagging. And you want them both from the same person? Well, we can keep working on it. In the mean time, you keep wanking and I can occasionally call you Darling if that would be any benefit. Or Sugarlumps -- that suits you better as a sentimental pet name." He was smiling.

John laughed. "You are not going to start calling me pet names," he said. "It's fine. I'm sure one day . . . well, we'll see one day. I'm fine. How do you feel?"

"Shite," Sherlock said, "but this conversation has been a helpful distraction. Thanks, Sugarlumps." He took the blankets off. "John, I'm all damp again. When will this end? I want to take another shower. It's disgusting and I'm worried you'll be so disgusted by me, you'll leave me alone again and I'm definitely worse when I'm on my own."

"I am not going to leave you because you're sweating. And I told you to put on something breathable, like cotton," John said. He got up and found Sherlock new pajamas. "Put these on and don't bother with the robe."

Sherlock stood up, muttering "Clothes cannot breathe" and slipped off his dressing gown. He changed his pajama shirt. Then he stepped out of his bottoms and put the new ones on. Then he threw the old ones at John. "There, you can have those if you love my sweat so much."

John winced and let them fall to the ground. "Just lay down so I can tuck you in," he said. 

Sherlock lay down and let John fuss him. He closed his eyes. "I'm imagining you wearing a nurse's outfit as you do this." He opened his eyes and smiled at John. "Thank you, _Darling_."

John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, grinning at the sight of just his head sticking out of the blankets. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. 

"Oh, that's nice actually," Sherlock said, moving his head into John's touching. "Not as good as if you were doing it wearing a nurse's outfit, but still good." He closed his eyes to enjoy it. When John stopped, he opened them and felt a bit embarrassed. "When are we eating something and what will we be eating?" he asked as he sat up again.

John pushed him down gently. "Please stay laying down so you can be properly covered up," he said, tucking him in again. "I will be making spaghetti. If you're hungry I can make it right now." 

Sherlock slid back down. "Excellent use of the commanding voice, by the way," he added, smiling cheekily. "I'll eat whenever you want. Though, should I be taking tablets on a completely empty stomach? Perhaps we should eat sooner rather than later?"

"I'm going to start the water now," John said. "By the time it's done, you can have more medicine."

Sherlock watched John walk into the kitchen. He sat back up again. "I was just thinking, you keep saying I'll feel better when the 'fever breaks.' What's that going to feel like? Is it dramatic? Or is it just a fancy pants way of saying the fever is gone?"

"It's a fancy way of saying the fever will go down," he said. "Will you please, please just stay covered up?" He came back into the sitting room and pushed him down again.   
  
"All right, all right, Dr Watson, don't get yourself all worked up. You do know that once my so-called fever so-called breaks, this bossiness will need to end," Sherlock said as he slid back down and pulled up the covers.

John tucked them extra tight around his body. "Yes, I know. And frankly I will be glad because then I won't have to deal with this rudeness!"

Sherlock pushed his legs free so his feet were sticking out, then lifted his arms so the blankets were no longer tight. "I think you are actually quite enjoying this," he said, pulling a face at John.

John sighed. "Fine. Stay uncovered. Just have a fever forever," he said dramatically. 

"No," Sherlock said grabbing John's arm. "Tuck me in again. I'm quite enjoying this as well," he said without meeting John's gaze.

John smiled softly and tucked him in again, shoving his hands under Sherlock's body to tighten the sheets, effectively trapping him in them. 

"So it finally comes to this. You've got me trapped now. I'm totally at your mercy."

Rolling his eyes John ruffled Sherlock's hair, hard with both hands, messing it all up. "We don't have sauce so I hope you don't mind plain noodles," he said as he moved to the kitchen. He thought about what he just did and flushed. Maybe that had been a bit much. Silly for sure.  

Sherlock wondered why he liked John touching his hair. It could easily be interpreted as patronising -- patting him, like one would a child. But Sherlock did like it. He left his hands under the covers. "Just noodles are fine. I'm not very hungry, if I'm honest, but I'll eat something, I promise."

"You have to eat a little bit to take more medicine," John reminded him. "Do you want tea as well?"

"Obviously. Have you ever known me to not want tea?" Sherlock smiled.

"Just making sure," John said, starting the kettle and leaning on the counter. 

"Thanks for taking care of me, John," Sherlock said softly from the sofa. He wasn't sure if John could hear, but he didn't repeat himself. More loudly he said, "Am I going to be able to lift my arms at some point or are you planning on feeding me?"

John flushed lightly and was about to reply when Sherlock was speaking more loudly. Maybe he'd been hearing things the first time? "When the food is done, you may sit up," John laughed.

"I might make you feed me. You can then learn the hard way that a helpless Sherlock is not a very pleasant Sherlock," he said.

"I will not feed you. No way," John said.

"Fine. I told you you didn't really care about my being ill," Sherlock said, smiling so John would know that he was teasing.

"I've only cooked for you, made tea, covered you up, brought you a change of clothes, slept with you, and got you better medicine," John listed dramatically.

"Well, when you put it like that . . . " Sherlock said. "I suppose you must care . . . at least a little."

John came out and put his tea of the coffee table. "Exactly," he smiled, going back to finish dinner.

"Am I allowed to lift my arms now? Drinking's going to be a struggle if you won't let me," Sherlock called.

"I said you could before!" John laughed.

"You said 'when the food is done' I can sit up and move," Sherlock said. "I listen carefully, John. You need to be precise. Only say what you actually mean."

"If you keep sassing me I'll tie you into your blanket and take you to Mycroft and he can deal with you," John teased. 

"Now that's just cruel, John," Sherlock said, sitting up and drinking his tea. "Perhaps you should turn up the heat? It's so cold in here."

John, who was feeling comfortable, came out into the sitting room and touched Sherlock's forehead again. "It's the same . . . at least not any hotter than before. That's a good sign," he said. He went back into the kitchen and served up the pasta, bringing both plates out. Then he went to the bathroom and got the medicine for Sherlock. "Take them after you eat, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Sherlock said, smiling. He scooped up a forkful of noodles and chewed them carefully. "This tastes like . . . noodles." He ate a few more bites.

"Strange -- I was sure I was making chicken," John mused sarcastically. 

"You should have tried harder then," Sherlock said. He didn't really feel hungry, but he didn't want the medicine to upset his stomach and have to deal with that as well as the sweat and aches. When he finished the food, he took the tablets and finished his tea. "I think maybe I should try to sleep now."


	3. Nurse John

John nodded. "That's a good idea. We'll check your temperature when you get up again."

Sherlock stood up and carried the plates to the kitchen. He then grabbed the blankets and headed to his room. "Are you coming?" he asked.

John looked up a bit surprised before remembering what he said -- that he would sleep with Sherlock until the fever broke. He hadn't expected it to go on an extra day, but he _had_ said it. "Yeah," John nodded, following him into his room. 

"Thank you," Sherlock said softly as he climbed into bed. "I guess if you're taking a few days off work, you might as well catch up on your rest as well." He felt bad for disrupting John's life, but he really was grateful. He pulled up the covers. "Are you sleepy?"

"A little bit," John said, taking off his jeans and realising he didn't have his pajama pants in here. "Um, I'll be right back," he said, moving to put his jeans back on.  

"You can sleep like that if you want," Sherlock said, turning away from John. "It makes no difference to me. Whatever you want."

John had his own blankets and he would still have his t-shirt on. And he didn't feel like going all the way upstairs. "Okay," he said. He tucked Sherlock in and then lay on his side, tossing the blanket loosely over himself. 

Sherlock turned and faced John. "It's kind of like we're children and we've got the day off school. Perhaps we should get under the covers and make a tent and play soldiers or something." He smiled at John.

John grinned. "We can pretend the floor is lava and walk on all of the furniture," he said. 

"Go ahead then," Sherlock said. "Feel free to stand up and jump on the bed. I'd like to see that."

"Not in my pants," John said without thinking, imagining himself flopping around. He flushed and looked down at the mattress. "Besides, it's more fun using the whole house."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "I'll make a note not to call you if I'm ever trapped in lava. By the time you change into an appropriate outfit, I'll be dead. Why are you so uptight about your clothing?"

John rolled his eyes. "It's not the clothes I'm worried about exactly," he admitted. "Specifically with jumping around . . . you know?"

"I've seen human bodies before, John," Sherlock said. "In fact, I have one of my own. I'm just saying, in a life and death situation, your jiggling about should not be your number one concern. You were in the army for god's sake, John. You should know that."

"The fact is that the room is not filling with lava and you’re not, in fact, in any real danger. Rest assured, if there was a serious threat, I would carry you to safety myself even if I was naked."   

Sherlock mussed John's hair. "That's terribly romantic. Is that the kind of line you say on dates? If so, I can't possibly understand why ladies turn you down."

"Oh yeah. On every date I like to inform them that I would carry them naked through a lava pit. I can't believe I forgot to tell you," he teased. 

"Perhaps you should try it. You said it to me and look where we are," Sherlock said. "Go ahead," he said dramatically opening his arms. "Have your way with me. Afterwards, I'll be happy to point out any errors in technique."

John snorted a laugh. "How nice of you," he said. His eyes moved along Sherlock's neck and shoulder before reaching over to cover him up. 

"Just don't say I never offered," Sherlock said, pulling up the covers. "To help, I mean."

"I would never do such a thing," John said, smiling over at him. "If I decide to go out again, I will make sure I do it with you first so I can brush up," he teased. 

"Well, as I say, you obviously needn't try so hard to seduce me. The technique you've been practising over the last twenty-four hours has clearly worked a treat."

"You're delirious with fever," John said. He was nervous to think that Sherlock was serious in saying John had seduced him -- that if John wanted to, he could honestly take Sherlock out on a date, bring him home, and do more. He met Sherlock's eyes. Maybe that wouldn't be so terrible . . .

"Actually I think the fever is helping me see things more clearly. This whole thing's been about your seducing me and you know it. The being sweet, the puppy dog eyes, the insisting on getting into bed wearing next to nothing. In fact, you're doing the puppy dog eyes right now, which worries me about what's going to happen next." Sherlock wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but he was definitely doing something.

"You're going to go to sleep and break this fever," John said quietly. Did Sherlock feel it too? That something was different? Was John seeing things? Reading too much into it?

"Well, that's a bit boring," Sherlock said, turning back over and pulling the blanket up close to his chin.

John stared at the back of his head, almost reaching out to stroke his hair. This was why his dates never worked. Because this is what he wanted. He wanted Sherlock. He closed his eyes and sighed softly.

Sherlock heard John's sigh. "What are you thinking?" Sherlock asked, without turning to face him.

"Too many things," John said quietly. 

"You'll never sleep if you're too busy thinking," Sherlock said. "You may have said that to me once. Stop thinking."

"Shall I just flip the switch, then?" John teased. 

"Just try," Sherlock said. "Whatever picture you're seeing in your head, pretend it's on a screen and then make it go black. Give it a go." He paused. "Or don't. You might be thinking of important things and since you're not poorly and actually being quite lazy by skipping work and taking a nap in the middle of the day, perhaps you should be thinking. It's up to you. But . . . remember this moment, the next time you hassle me."

John smiled. "I'm sorry I ever hassled you about sleeping," he said. "But it's rather important that I sort through this. If it's . . . too loud for you, I will try and stop."

"Go ahead," Sherlock said. "I'll do my best to tune you out." He pulled the blanket up a little higher. He took a few deep breaths and swallowed. "Unless you'd like to talk about whatever's in your head."

"Not yet," John said quietly. 

"Intriguing," Sherlock said softly. "Well, I'll be here. . . hopefully less sweaty by the time you're ready." He rubbed his hands on his thighs and then wrapped his arms around his torso.

"Should I get another blanket?" John said, watching him rub himself for warmth. 

"I don't know," Sherlock said frustrated. "I really am sick of being sick, John."

"I know," John said. "I wish there was something more I could do. Want some more regular medicine?"

"No, it hasn't really helped. I don't like taking it anyway, I don't want to take more than I should," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry I'm such a big baby about it. It's just . . . tiresome and I feel like pouting."

"I can . . . rub your back?" John offered. 

"All right then . . . if you don't mind," Sherlock said, "Thanks."

John stuck one hand under the blanket and gently rubbed his hand up and down Sherlock's back. He was hot and damp. John felt bad, wishing the fever would break already. 

"I'm sorry I'm gross and don't say I'm not because I know I am," Sherlock said. But his muscles ached and the rubbing felt nice. Maybe more than that, though, the touch was comforting and it felt good. He pushed back a little, increasing the pressure.

"You are a bit gross," John admitted. He kneaded Sherlock's back, digging into the muscles gently. 

"That's hurtful, John," Sherlock said. "I told you your bedside manner was weak. You don't have to do it if you don't want to. But if you don't care, don't stop. It feels good."

"I don't care," he smiled. "I was teasing." He continued kneading his back gently. 

"Perhaps if you had done this last night, instead of moaning about how you weren't getting any, I would have felt better by today," Sherlock joked.

"You really know how to say thanks," John smiled. 

"It's a skill," Sherlock said. "Anyway, thanks for looking after me. All the stuff you've done. Really, thanks. Before you were here, it was really horrible, but you've definitely made it less horrible."

John smiled. "You're welcome," he said. His hand moved a bit lighter, slowly going back to just rubbing his back softly. 

"No, harder," Sherlock said, pushing back against John. "Unless . . . unless you want to do it softer, but if you want to do it softer, can you rub my head instead?" He felt a little embarrassed asking straight out like that, but if John was going to be obliging, he figured he might as well be specific.

John brought his hand up to Sherlock's hair, running his fingers through it, petting his head softly. "If you're still ill tomorrow, I'll do a massage when I can better use both hands," he promised quietly. 

"I could be dead tomorrow, John," Sherlock said, rolling over onto his belly. "Do a proper one now. Please."

"You are not going to die tomorrow," he said, propping himself up onto his elbow. 

"John, we're all going to die one day. Tomorrow could be my day regardless of this fever. I could be hit by a bus. That's why one should never wait."

John sighed. "You have to stay under the blankets though, for your fever, okay?" He sat up on his knees and, using both hands, kneaded Sherlock's back hard. 

"Fine, Doctor, I'll do what you say," Sherlock said. "What should I do with my arms?"

"Just stay bundled up," he smiled, moving down his back. 

"Should I take my shirt off?" Sherlock said, turning his head to the side. "Can you tell I've never had a proper massage before? I'm not sure what to do."

"Okay, look. If I do this properly -- really the right way -- do you promise to stay completely bundled up for the rest of the day?"

"Yes, I promise . . . to try."

Figuring that was as close as he was going to get, John pulled the covers back. "Take off your shirt," he said, going into the bathroom and getting a cool, wet cloth. All this time trying to sweat it out, it wouldn't hurt for just a little bit. 

Sherlock sat up and removed his shirt, throwing it to the chair. The room was dark and stunk of sweat. He lay back down and tried to get comfortable which did not happen because he was still clammy. But he decided not to care.

"I have to sit here, okay?" John said, climbing onto Sherlock and sitting on the back of his thighs. He started to wipe Sherlock's back with the cool cloth. 

"Good," Sherlock mumbled at the cool cloth. It made him feel cleaner. Then he said more clearly, "You're heavier than you look."

John raised himself onto his knees. "Sorry." He wiped the cloth all the way down to his lower back and then around his shoulders and neck.  

"I wasn't saying you had to move, I was just commenting," Sherlock said. "Sit back down. Should I be talking while this is happening? It feels good by the way, if I'm allowed to say."

John smiled and sat back down. "You can talk if you like," he said. He let Sherlock's back dry as he poured a bit of baby oil into his hands and rubbed them together, warming it a bit. He started his hands at Sherlock's shoulders and started properly kneading. 

"Is this part of your usual seduction technique then?" Sherlock said in between little grunts at John's hands.

"Not at all. Actually, my mum used to have back aches after work and I would rub her back. She told me to do it professionally, but it never interested me like that."

"Shame, perhaps you should," Sherlock said. "You could work in the parlour a few streets over and your lack of sex problem would be solved instantly."

John pinched the back of his arm lightly. "Be nice or I'll stop," he warned playfully. 

"It was supposed to be a compliment," Sherlock said, wincing dramatically. "Quite frankly, I think it would be wise if you'd continue to do this each night even after I get better. You know, as a preventative measure."

"The second your fever breaks I am going on holiday. You have worn me out," John teased. He had resumed massaging, now at the middle of his back. 

"John, you're taking a nap in the middle of the day. How could that have worn you out?"

"You're so demanding," John sighed dramatically.  

"And yet," Sherlock said, "you love it."

John smiled and didn't reply. He switched to just his fingers now and massaged his lower back and sides.


	4. Is This Weird?

Sherlock let his body sink into the bed. This was the best he had felt since the fever had started. He closed his eyes and forgot what was happening -- instead he just concentrated on the touch, the electricity that was moving from John's skin through his to each and every muscle and nerve on his back. Then he said softly, "Is this weird, John, that we're doing this?"

"Do you think it is?" John asked softly, working his fingers into Sherlock's back. Slowly he was moving back up to his shoulders. 

"It's . . . unusual," Sherlock said. "I suppose if you used to do it to your mother, it's not that weird that you're doing it to me." He swallowed. "Yet . . . "

John flushed and slowly his hands stopped. Now it was a bit strange. "We should get you covered up," he said quietly, moving to get off of Sherlock.

"Don't stop," Sherlock said. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I -- we've got to break this fever, Sherlock. We're close, you're not as warm as before," he mumbled. Everything was so serious all of a sudden, and he felt a bit panicked.

"Fine," Sherlock said, turning over and pulling the covers back up over his body again. It was silent in the room. It was definitely weird now.

John hesitated before tucking in the edges. Normal. He just had to act normal.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said softly.

"For what?" John asked gently.

"For making it weird," Sherlock said. "And now you feel uncomfortable and I feel bad."

"No, it's okay," John said. "I was almost done anyways and you really should be covered up."

"I don't think it is okay."

"I promise. I'm not mad or anything. It's fine," John assured him. He even laid back down to prove it.

"John, are you saying that you don't feel something . . . different . . . . between us?"

John closed his eyes even though Sherlock was turned away from him. "I don't know," he mumbled stupidly. Of course something was different. He was falling in love with his best friend, his flatmate, a man.

"So that means yes," Sherlock said. "It's okay. I feel it, too. We should probably talk about it. But I won't make you. Should we . . . just leave it?"

John hesitated. "Let's fix you up first and . . . and I promise I will talk about it with you after," he said quietly. He needed to figure it out in his own head first.

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to." He swallowed. "But I'd like you to."

"I will," John said.

"Thank you," Sherlock said. He turned over so he was flat on his back. He reached over and touched John's hand. "I'll try harder to sleep now." He closed his eyes.

John turned his hand to hold Sherlock's and agreed to do the same. 

Sherlock listened to his breath going in and out. He listened for John's as well. He didn't sleep but did his best not to think. To just be. Whatever was happening was okay for the moment.

John dozed off, wanting his brain to be quiet for a bit. His hand went limp under Sherlock's.

Eventually, Sherlock must have slept -- he wasn't aware of it but he was aware when he woke up. Their hands were no longer touching, but that was okay. John was still there, that's the main thing. He turned to look at him and smiled. He wondered how things in the flat would be now.

Sherlock slipped as quietly as he could out of the bed and rinsed off quickly in the shower. He put on clean pajamas and took some more tablets. He put the kettle on and made two cups of tea, which he carried back into his bedroom. He set one down on the bedside table next to John. He sat down in the chair and drank his.

"You're meant to be covered up," John murmured, keeping his eyes closed.

"I'll get a blanket," Sherlock said. "I didn't want to wake you. There's tea next to you, if you want it."

John hummed quietly and nodded. He yawned and sat up slowly, wondering what time it was and how long he'd been asleep. He took a sip of tea and then remembered Sherlock. "We should take your temperature," he said as he got up.

"I think I'm feeling a bit better," Sherlock said. "Perhaps the fever broke and we both missed it because we were asleep. Shame, I was looking forward to witnessing the dramatic moment." He smiled weakly.

John smiled as he came back with the thermometer. "I don't know -- I don't see any confetti," he teased. He put the thermometer under Sherlock's tongue and, while he waited he touched Sherlock's forehead. He didn't feel warm anymore. The time passed and John took his hand away before taking the thermometer out. "You're cured," he smiled. "On the dot normal."

Sherlock looked up at John. "Good. Everything is back to normal now, I suppose. Thanks for your help."

"Of course," John nodded. "If you change your clothes I'll start a load of laundry for everything you sweat through," he smiled as he went to put the thermometer back.

"The gross ones are over there," Sherlock said, motioning to the corner. "I've already showered. If you smell me, I hope I no longer stink."

"I'm sure you smell fine," John said, picking up the pile Sherlock pointed to. He winced as he got a breath of them all together, quickly leaving the room. His mind was wandering to before their nap and now, with Sherlock's temperature back to normal, he realised he didn't have an excuse to keep quiet. He hoped Sherlock had forgotten even though that was highly unlikely. He would just have to avoid him. In the same flat. As if that would work.

Sherlock finished his tea and then went out to the sitting room. He picked up the newspaper and flipped through it, before realising it was yesterday's. When John came back in, he asked, "So are you going to the surgery now that your work here is done?"

John nodded. "I have tomorrow off but after that," he said. "I think Mrs Hudson brought up today's paper, on the kitchen table."

Sherlock stood and stretched. "God, it feels strange to not feel so horrible." He walked over to the table and sat down to look at the paper. Without lifting his head, he said, "Let me treat you to dinner. Take away or go out, your choice. To thank you."

"That's not necessary," John said. "I'm your doctor, and more importantly your friend. I didn't mind helping you -- I hardly did anything."

"Not true," Sherlock said. "At least, let's get a take away. A treat. To celebrate the fact that I am no longer poorly and am no doubt back to my generous, cheerful self." He was smiling.

John snorted a sarcastic laugh. "Fine," he agreed. "Only if we go out to celebrate and not to thank me."

"Semantics," Sherlock said, raising his hand to dismiss it. "Call it whatever you like but you choose what we eat. Not noodles, though."

"You choose since you're feeling so good you want to go galavanting around the city," John laughed.

"I don't want to choose, I shouldn't exert myself so soon after my illness," Sherlock said as he folded the paper. He looked at his watch. "Dinner at 7pm," he said, standing up. "I'm going out now, I'll be back shortly." He moved to grab his coat and slipped his scarf around his neck. "I am bundled up, Doctor, before you start to nag," he said.

"I swear if you keep harassing me I will ring your neck with that scarf," John said, getting up himself. "I'm going to take a shower then."

Sherlock smiled and headed out. He began walking to nowhere in particular. The fresh air felt good, he did his best to breathe in and out deeply as if he were cleansing himself with each breath. He began to think. He knew John would do his best to avoid a talk about what happened earlier. Sherlock could allow this: they could just pretend it never happened or blame it on the fever and that would be that. Or Sherlock could address it straight on. But if he forced the conversation, what would he say?

He thought about John. Obviously John was different. Their relationship was different to anything that Sherlock had ever known. It was a kind of love, Sherlock thought, it must be. But was it that kind of love? He didn't know because he knew nothing about that. But John did. And John said love was lacking in his life, so regardless of his own feelings, John must not feel that way about Sherlock or he wouldn't be going out on so many dates to find it.

This information was useful, though Sherlock couldn't tell if it hurt him or if it should hurt him. However, it didn't really help regarding the possibility of a conversation. Perhaps things would be easier if it were in the open -- perhaps if it were said aloud, if John said aloud that none of this was about that kind of love, perhaps then things would go back to how they were and Sherlock's confusion about his own feelings would become irrelevant. Perhaps John would still rub his back or maybe even sometimes sleep in his room if both of them knew it meant nothing.

But why was Sherlock looking for a way to get John to touch him and sleep in his room? He pushed that question out of his head. He felt like smoking a cigarette but didn't because he knew John would smell it on him and be angry. So he headed home.

John turned on the hot water and for a long time just stood underneath it, hoping it would rinse away all of the questions that were buzzing around in his head. The nap had helped restart his brain a bit, allowing him to properly examine everything that was happening with a fresh look. He was in love with Sherlock. That was the umbrella under which a thousand other questions were hiding.

When had this happened? For crying out loud he was on a date just last night! And he'd left for what? A fever? A fever in a grown man? _That's an excuse and you know it_ , John sighed and rubbed his face hard. How many times had he left a date under the guise of Sherlock being in trouble? Of Sherlock needing help on a case? Of Sherlock needing a bloody pen from across the room? It was pathetic, really, that he hadn't noticed this before. Maybe he really was an idiot.

Had Sherlock noticed? That was a loaded question that branched off into so many others. Maybe he noticed and didn't care, continuing to act like he always did because he was Sherlock. Maybe he did notice but wasn't saying anything so that John wouldn't get mad. Maybe he hadn't noticed at all -- he usually missed social cues like that and might not even realise he was doing something wrong. Maybe he had noticed and he was doing an experiment to see just how much control he really had over John. John groaned and dropped his head against the wall. 

Just like that, he was just as confused as before and felt like he needed another nap. Instead, he actually started to carry on with his shower. Another nap. Lying next to Sherlock, rubbing his back, his hair, maybe curled close to him, breathing him in-- _what the hell is wrong with you?_ John sighed and stuck his whole face under the water. What a mess.  

Sherlock saw Mrs Hudson as he was coming in. He told her he'd been poorly, knowing she too would be willing to fuss him. She mussed his hair and fiddled with his scarf and made him promise he would let her know if he started feeling unwell again.

"I am better now, I said," Sherlock said, pushing her away. "John looked after me."  
  
"That's good," Mrs Hudson said. "The two of you are good together."  
  
"Are we?" Sherlock asked, trying to read her face.

"You know you are," she said smiling.

"I suppose so," he said, turning to go into the flat.

He could hear the water in John's bathroom. Had John been showering the whole time he'd been gone? He walked to the door and tapped it softly. "I'm home," he said. "Just so you know."

John started when he heard the taps on the door. How long had he been in here? He shut the water off quickly. "I'm done," he called out. He felt embarrassed for some reason. He dried off quickly and then his stomach dropped. Intending a quick shower he hadn't brought any clothes with him. Sighing, he wrapped the towel around his waist, tying it and holding it in place as he got out and made for the stairs.

Sherlock went down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He heard John's footsteps on the stairs. He glanced up and saw John rushing, in just a towel. He quickly turned to face the wall, fiddling with a mug. He decided he wouldn't turn around until he heard John's voice, giving him permission.

Reaching his room, John closed the door and let the towel fall, quickly grabbing a pair of pants. He groaned when he saw they were an old, bright red pair, but he just wanted to get something on so he slipped them on and then moved to the closet for clothes. _Date clothes?_ No. This wasn't a date. This wasn't even a thank you. Sherlock was just tired of being stuck in the house so they were getting dinner out. _Like a date._ "Shut up," he grumbled to the voice in his head quietly. He put on a dark pair of jeans and a burgundy jumper. _You wore that on a date four months ago_ , the voice said. John tore it off and put on a navy jumper instead that had thin white stripes. He waited, but the voice in his head remained quiet. Satisfied he headed back downstairs.

Sherlock had poured his tea and will still standing, facing the cupboards. He took a long drink. It felt good going down. He heard John come down the stairs but he didn't turn. He waited.

"Did you make me some?" John asked, joining Sherlock in the kitchen. "I never drank the one by the bed," he remembered suddenly. "I should go get that."

"Leave it," Sherlock said, flipping the kettle back on and turning around. "It'll be done in a minute." He swallowed some more tea. "The fresh air did me good, I think. Do you feel better after your shower?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "I sort of lost track of time in there," he joked to make light of how long he was in there.

"So we're both feeling better," Sherlock said. "Have you decided where you want to go to eat? I won't lie -- I'm not very hungry but I will eat something in case I need to take more tablets." He finished his tea. He looked up at John and turned to face the sink. "You look nice, by the way," he said.

 _Date!_ John's brain screamed. He cleared his throat lightly and looked down. "Thanks," he said quietly. "Um . . ." he was going to say he wasn't hungry either when his stomach rumbled softly. “Can we go for pizza?"

Sherlock crinkled his nose, turned and said, "Pizza is fine. Angelo's then? Shall we go now?"

John had been hoping to avoid that kind of scene but had forgotten Angelo had pizza, too. "Okay," John agreed. "They have little personal ones, if you want something else."

"John," Sherlock said a little sternly. "I said we can go wherever you want. If you want to go to Angelo's we will, if you want to go somewhere else, we can. Just . . . don't be so accommodating. I'm not poorly anymore. Just be . . . regular." He walked to the door, put on his coat and scarf and then turned back. "Okay then?" he said, with a little smile. "Where are we headed?"

"I just want some pizza," John said a bit shyly. "I just forgot Angelo had pizza. That will be fine."

"That sounds excellent to me," Sherlock said, heading out. They walked to Angelo's without speaking. They sat down at their usual table and when Angelo brought over two glasses of water, he looked over the two of them and then asked Sherlock if he was ill.

"I am not," Sherlock said. "John would like pizza." He looked over at John.

"Just cheese and pepperoni is fine," John said to Angelo. "Aren't you getting anything?" he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at John and then at Angelo and said, "Make it big enough to share."  
  
After Angelo left, Sherlock said, "So, everything is good between us." It was partly a statement but also a question and Sherlock decided he'd allow John to interpret it however he chose.

"Yes, of course," John nodded. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Because something unusual happened and sometimes something unusual can change other things," Sherlock said, taking a sip of water. "Though it needn't." He looked out the window at someone he thought he recognised but then realised he didn't.

"Well . . . everything is fine," he said again, maybe trying to convince himself more than Sherlock. Had things changed? John was the one acting weird. He just needed to stop, to act like he did before the fever. "Do you have a case waiting for you?"

"Yes," Sherlock said and before he knew what he was doing, he added, "It's the case of the two flatmates who did something in bed together but one decided to pretend it hadn't happened." Well, Sherlock thought, apparently he had decided _not_ to let John decide if they talked about it. Sometimes he too was surprised by the things that came out of his mouth.


	5. Again

John's eyes widened. "Nothing happened! We -- we just slept," he said. "We just slept," he repeated with more conviction. 

"Now, John, that's not true," Sherlock said. "I knew it -- I knew it wasn't okay even though you said it was." He smiled smugly. "You really are a terrible liar. Fine, we don't have to talk about what happened. But we do have to talk about why you are responding like this. What happened was unusual but your response is . . . " he couldn't find the right word -- maddening? hurtful? -- he wasn't sure, ". . . something we should talk about."

"What response? Look, I gave you a massage. That's all that happened. I had to sit on you to do it, I rubbed your back, and we went to sleep. That's all." John bit his lip and took a drink of his water for something to do. "What would we have to talk about?"

"John, to whom are you speaking?" Sherlock asked.

"Just -- ask me what you want to know," John said, looking up to meet his gaze. "What do you want me to say?"

Sherlock asked, "Do you think we will do it again?" because that was precisely what he wanted to know.

"Do what again? The massage?" John asked. 

"The . . . touching in bed," Sherlock said.

John flushed. "Don't say it like that," he mumbled. "I just rubbed your back."

"Why shouldn't I say it like that? That's what happened and also how I prefer to think of it. And you haven't answered the question," Sherlock said.

"I don't know," John said, playing with his silverware. 

Sherlock looked down at his own silverware. "Well, I want us to."

"Okay," John answered quietly, his stomach flipping nervously. 

"Good, perhaps tonight?" Sherlock said as Angelo brought over the food. He laid down the pizza in the middle of the table and set a plate in front of each of them. "Thank you, Angelo," Sherlock said, looking up at him. He set a piece on his own plate and cut off the tip before popping it into his mouth.

"Just share a bed? Like this afternoon?"

"Eat," Sherlock said. "You said you wanted pizza."

"Like this afternoon?" he asked again, pulling a piece onto his plate. 

"We'll see," Sherlock said, taking a drink. "Don't get so worked up. Let's just see, shall we?"

How did Sherlock expect him not to get worked up? He was talking about sleeping together. His own mind trailed off. Sherlock probably had no idea what he was asking. It was a big deal to John who had just discovered his feelings for Sherlock, but Sherlock was probably just logically thinking about how to get better sleep. "Okay."

Sherlock smiled. "Good, that's settled." He ate a few more bites of pizza. "Did you want wine with your pizza or are you good?"

"I'm okay," John said.

"So," Sherlock said, settling back into his chair. "Has work been slow? Is that why you were able to get time off?"

"Not really but she's hired another doctor, someone a bit more reliable than I am. I'm merely extra help now."

"I am happy to hear that," Sherlock said. "I always find you very reliable and this means you'll be able to help me more."

"Help you how?" John asked.

"With future cases, now that the flatmate one is solved," Sherlock said. "It's helpful when you are curious."  
  
"Oh, right," John nodded, taking another slice of pizza.

"And the blog? How's the blog going? Still getting readers?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded. "The counter is still broken, but I get new comments and stuff."

"Good, good," Sherlock said. "That's good. Don't put the flatmate case on there, though I would be curious to see what you called it." He finished his piece of pizza. "I am very glad I am no longer poorly. Thank you again, John, for allowing me to ruin your date and for coming home to help me."

"Well, like I said, what are friends for?" He smiled softly, going back to his pizza. He didn't comment on the 'flatmate case', wondering how Sherlock could be so calm about it.

"As you know, I wasn't quite sure what friends were for," Sherlock said, "before I met you. Now I'm starting to see. I wish I offered you the same things you give me, but I don't think I do. I wish I did, though. If you get poorly, I probably won't be able to cure you. But I could at least wear the nurse's outfit." He pushed himself away from the table. "Are you finished? Do you want coffee or dessert?"

"No, I'm all set. And I would never ask you to wear a nurse's outfit," he laughed.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "Shall we go?" He set some money on the table and waved to Angelo.

John waved and led the way out of the restaurant. "Do you feel like you need more medicine?"

"Not tablets," Sherlock said.

"You want the stronger stuff? You don't have a fever . . ."

"What's the stronger stuff? Is that a euphemism? _"_

"Oh God," John groaned dramatically. "No. I meant the stuff I got from the pharmacy instead of the regular tablets."

"No thank you," Sherlock said. "I will do my best to get more rest tonight and then I should be as good as new tomorrow, don't you think, Doctor?" He tucked his hands into his coat pocket.

John nodded. "I agree completely. That's the best thing for your body to recover."

"However, I will treat myself to a cup of tea before I retire for the evening," Sherlock said, as he unlocked the flat door.

"Okay," John said. "I'm going to change," he added, heading for the stairs.

Sherlock put the kettle on and went to brush his teeth and wash his face as it boiled. He came in his pajamas and poured a cup. "Do you want one?" he called to John.

"No thanks," John called down. After changing into pajamas, he went to get the old mug from Sherlock's room to wash.

Sherlock took the mug from John. "I'll wash it while mine brews." He washed the mug and then added milk to his tea. He headed towards his bedroom and asked, "Are you going to watch telly first or are you coming to bed with me now?"

John grabbed his book and followed. "I'll come now."

Sherlock smiled to himself and opened his bedroom door. He set the mug down and turned on his bedside light before climbing into bed. He watched John come in.

John was nervous. Agreeing to lay with Sherlock while he was sick was one thing but now -- he wondered what the point of it was for Sherlock. But there was no going back now. If he changed his mind he'd have to explain and he didn't want to. Things would definitely be weird after that. He climbed into bed but didn't open his book just yet.

"Thanks for . . . thanks," Sherlock said. "I have an idea. I would really like you to rub my back again. It felt very nice and I'd like you to do it again. Maybe you could do mine for a bit and then I can do yours as well, to thank you?" Sherlock had rolled to face John.

John looked over at him and almost said it wasn't a good idea but he paused. Sherlock looked so . . . innocent, like he honestly saw nothing more than a quick back rub. _That's all it is,_ John reminded himself. "Okay," he nodded, putting his book on the bedside table.

"Good," Sherlock said, almost giddily. He sat up and lifted his t-shirt over his head. He flipped over, shoving his pillow out of the way. "It'll be nicer now that I'm not sweaty, for you, I mean, it won't be as gross, I hope," he said.

"Oh, you meant . . . yes, right," John stammered. His face flushed. _Get a hold of yourself!_ he screamed in his head. He scooted closer, sitting on his knees beside Sherlock and starting to rub his shoulders.

Sherlock relaxed, letting his body sink into the bed. "John," he said softly, "I really have to say that this feels very good. I don't think much about my body, but this reminds me how tense it seems to usually be." He closed his eyes. "Thank you again for doing this. I hope you don't hate it."

"I don't hate it," John assured him. He lost himself in the movement of his hands, his short, tan fingers kneading into Sherlock's pale skin, into his muscles. He moved lower to the middle of his back, using his palms now and pushing outwards lightly.

Sherlock smiled softly. John was really good at this. Sherlock wished he had known about it earlier. He thought of all the times he couldn't sleep or couldn't think. This might have helped then. He wondered if John would be willing to do it every night . . . this would not be a bad way to end every day.

John smiled softly when he heard Sherlock sigh. He was happy to be helping, to be making him feel better.

Sherlock had been planning on keeping time in his head, but as soon as John touched him, that idea was lost. Quite frankly, he kind of regretted making the offer -- he'd be happy to just lie here until he fell asleep. But he had meant what he said at dinner. He wanted to be a better friend to John -- instead of just always taking from him, he wanted to give back. He let John rub him for a few more minutes, trying to pay attention to the movements John made so he could mimic them. Finally, he said, "Okay, now it's your turn."

"That's okay," John said. "I'm not so tense." He kept the movements going to discourage Sherlock from getting up.

"I'm not going to argue with you to keep going," Sherlock said softly. "Keep going, but don't let me fall asleep. I want to do it, John, I want to help you regardless. It's important to me."

"I'm not promising anything," John teased lightly. His hands moved to Sherlock's lower back, kneading with his fingers again.

"Please, John," Sherlock said more seriously. Then his tone was light again and he said, "It's kind of cruel, your being so good to me without letting me do anything in return. If you let me fall asleep, I'll do it when I wake up. Even if it's the middle of the night. I want to."

John slowed his hands, gradually coming to a stop. "Okay, fine," he said. He moved back to his own side and started to lay down.

"Take off your shirt," Sherlock said, "like me."

"Oh yeah," he said, sitting up and pulling his shirt off. He pulled the pillow under his chest and hugged it as he lay down.

Sherlock slowly lifted his leg over and rested his weight on John. He looked on John's bareback and thought for a moment. "Put your arms out to the side, like you're flying," he said. He helped John move his arms. Then he started in the middle of John's back first, first getting used to the feeling of his hands on John's skin and noting areas of muscles that seemed tighter. "Is this okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," he mumbled. He was hoping Sherlock would have sat beside him, but it was too late now. His weight felt good on him. John bit his lip and closed his eyes, enjoying his hands.

Sherlock kept a steady stroke on John's skin. He made sure that he always had one hand on his back the whole time. He moved down first to John's lower back before moving up to his shoulder blades. He followed the curves and the lines before moving out from John's spine to across his shoulder tops.

John moaned softly, closing his eyes. It was so much better than he thought it would be. And then he felt it. Heat flooded his stomach and his eyes popped open. How much of a fight would Sherlock put up if he asked him to stop? Would it be best if he just waited it out?

Sherlock kept his hands moving across John when he suddenly felt John's muscles tense. "Relax," he said softly. "Unless it hurts. Am I hurting you?" he said. He didn't think he was being too rough, but the whole point was to make John feel nice, not to hurt him.

"No, um . . . time's almost up, yeah?" He asked quietly, shifting a bit.

"Okay, I guess," Sherlock said, "just hold on, Mister Impatient." He leaned forward a little and slid his hands from the top of John's shoulders down each arm to his hand and back up again. "Do you want me to do your legs as well?"

John shook his head quickly. When Sherlock had leaned forward . . . geez, he could feel himself lightly pressing into the mattress.

"All right then," Sherlock reached up and ran his fingers through John's hair a few times. Then he slid off John and lay down beside him. "Was it okay? I wanted it to be as good as the one you gave me," he said softly.

John had to press his lips together to keep quiet when Sherlock's fingers went through his hair. He was thankful and disappointed that it was over. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The room was silent for a little while. Sherlock turned onto his side to face John and slid his hand into John's. "Will you stay in here to sleep?" he whispered.

John automatically closed his fingers around Sherlock's. "Yeah, I will," he nodded.

"I like this," Sherlock said. "I don't know why. I do." He brushed his fingers across John's. "Do you . . . like it as well or are you just doing it to humour me? Be honest."

John looked down at their hands. "It's not so bad," he admitted.

"I wish we would have thought to start doing it earlier," Sherlock said. "It makes sleeping nicer. Do you think we'll do it every night? Unless you have a date, obviously."

"I told you I'm not dating anymore," John mumbled.

"That's the second time that you have dodged a question this evening," Sherlock said, squeezing John's hand a bit.

"We can keep doing this," he said quietly.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Are you sleepy now?"

"A bit," he nodded. He gazed at their hands, rubbing his fingers lightly.

Sherlock was also feeling quite relaxed and thought he might possibly sleep. "Do you want to spoon?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

John was about to agree when he remembered his little problem. He shook his head slowly, honestly feeling bad.

"All right then," Sherlock said, wishing he hadn't pushed his luck. He worried a little that John would think he was being too demanding or perhaps crossing a line. Sherlock was pretty sure his lines were definitely blurrier than John's.

"I'm sorry," John mumbled. How embarrassing -- he couldn't believe he was in this mess.

"It's okay," Sherlock said. "Don't feel like you have to do anything just because I ask. You're always asking me to do things and I don't. I hope you don't mind that I asked, though. I just . . . felt like it.

John looked up and met his gaze. "Um," he wondered if Sherlock would piece it together, but he risked it anyways. "You can . . . lay behind me?"

Sherlock moved carefully. He hoped that John really was okay with it, but, even though he didn't really understand why, he just felt like he wanted to be close in that way. He decided he didn't care why. He curled against John and slipped his arm around him. "Thanks," he whispered.

John's stomach twitched lightly as Sherlock's hand settled over it, but it didn't move any further and he relaxed against Sherlock. It was warm and he always liked sleeping with another person better than alone. This, of course, did not help the situation in his pants -- especially since neither of them had put their shirts back on -- but he continued to push thoughts like that away to make it go down. He just needed to sleep. "You're welcome," he murmured.

Sherlock made a little hum and pressed his chest against John's back. He closed his eyes and his breath slowed as he fell asleep.

It was rare that John was on this side of the cuddle. He liked it, even more so because Sherlock was so much taller and John seemed to just fit so nicely with him. He started to doze off, and he hoped he'd have plain dreams that wouldn't leave him embarrassed in the morning.

Sherlock awoke in the middle of the night, still curled against John. He was a little confused at first, but then remembered what was going on. He moved away slightly, but stayed facing John. He touched John's back softly and let his hand move to John's hair, which he stroked a few times. Then he turned over and went back to sleep.

John was sleeping through the touches, dreaming about Sherlock but nothing that he would remember in the morning. He shifted lightly but remained asleep.


	6. Different

When Sherlock woke again, John was gone. It felt funny, not right. He lay silently on the bed, trying to determine where John was: had he gone to the bathroom, moved to his own bed, or just started the day? He heard nothing.

John was in the bathroom splashing water on his face, considering if he should go back to bed. He had the day off anyways but what would lying in bed all day with Sherlock lead to? Another mess like yesterday? He finished up and went for his shirt. He saw Sherlock staring at the ceiling. "Morning," he said.

"Good morning," Sherlock said. "I didn't know what was happening." He sat up and noticed John had not brought in tea. Perhaps he wasn't starting the day after all. "What is happening?"

"I went to the bathroom," John said. "I came back for my shirt."

"Are you going somewhere?" Sherlock asked.

"No," John shook his head. "I was just starting the day," he shrugged.

"Are we going to spend the day together?" Sherlock asked, still not getting up from the bed. "Or do you want some time on your own? I know I have literally demanded all your time in the last few days."

"I don't have anything planned," John said. "I was just going to read, I guess." He felt like that sounded so silly. Why would he get out of bed when he had no plans? He moved and sat on the edge of the bed.

Sherlock slid down in the bed to stretch and pressed his feet against John's legs. "Well, perhaps I should get up as well? Should we get dressed and go to breakfast? Or do you just want to read on your own?"

John playfully shoved his feet away. "Breakfast sounds good. We can make it here," he suggested.

"I have an even better idea," Sherlock said, sitting up quickly. "You can make the breakfast here and I shall watch you do so."

"That's what I just said!" John laughed.

"You said we can make it but my suggestion was much more doable," Sherlock said. "Don't be contrary just for the sake of it. Or at least wait until I've had my tea before doing so. Why didn't you bring in tea, by the way? That was quite selfish."

"I told you I was only in the bathroom and then I came for my shirt!" John said, waving the shirt in front on him. "And you're going to help. I'll make pancakes and you make eggs and toast."

Sherlock made a cough. "I shouldn't be preparing food -- the sickness might still be around and then you'll get ill and I'll have to move out for a few days because I'm not sharing a flat with a sick person. That'd be madness." Sherlock stood up and grabbed his dressing gown. "And put your shirt on. You shouldn't be flaunting your manly chest this early in the morning."

John flushed lightly and quickly put his shirt back on. "I shared a bed with you but you won't share a flat with me?" John asked in mock offense.

"You're a doctor, that's what you get paid to do," Sherlock teased. "Come on, don't you have a breakfast I need to watch you make?" he said as he left the room.

John smiled softly after Sherlock and followed him into the kitchen. "Make tea at least," he said as he started pulling out ingredients.

"Fine," Sherlock said. He refilled the kettle and turned it on, setting out two mugs and popping two bags in. He sat down at the table. When the kettle turned off, he said, "Pour those for me, will you?" as he flicked through yesterday's newspaper.

"No. You're not sick anymore. I'm making breakfast," John said.

Sherlock dramatically stood up and stomped over to the kettle and poured the water. "I am not your slave," Sherlock said. He deliberately bumped into John as he went to get the milk. He moved the mug towards John and then carried his back to the table.

"Just my friend," John countered. "And you're not being a very good one after all I did for you." He hid a smile as he mixed up the batter.

"Sorry," Sherlock said. He wondered how John could do that: make him feel bad with just a few words. Sherlock wanted to be a good friend. For the first time in a long time, Sherlock wanted to do something for someone else. "Thanks again for all you did. And for making the breakfast." He smiled.

"I'm not sure if I believe you," John continued teasing. "I mean, you're still making me work and you're being mean about it." He started beating the eggs now.

Sherlock looked at John and, although he could not see his face, he imagined it. Did John know what he was doing, controlling Sherlock's reactions with his words? Sherlock could not tell, and it frustrated him. It was easier to focus on what John was thinking than on what he himself was thinking. He could be wondering why his responses to John had changed, why he wanted new things from John, why, why, why? Those questions waited somewhere in his head to be examined another day. Instead he focused on trying to read John, but he struggled.

John lit up the burner, surprised that hadn't gotten a response. He started cooking the pancakes first.

Sherlock stood up and got two plates and silverware and set everything out on the table. Then he sat back down and waited for John. He was too busy trying to figure out John's behaviour to see that his own was decidedly puppy-like.

When everything was all done, John piled the food onto a bigger plate and brought it to the table. He sat down, finally glanced at Sherlock and started to eat. "You know I was kidding, right?" he asked finally.

"Kidding about what?" Sherlock felt a little panic.

"Saying that you're a bad friend. You're not."

"I don't want to be," Sherlock said. "I want to be . . . your best friend."

"You are," John said. "Of course you are."

"Is that why it's okay to do what we did last night?" Sherlock was looking at his tea and would not look away.

"Um, yeah," John nodded. "Not all friends do that but . . ." He shrugged as he trailed off.

"So why did we?"

"You were sick and I felt bad for you," John said, now focused on mixing his food around his plate.

"I wasn't sick last night," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"I know but . . ." John shrugged again and looked up. "We just . . . we're different."

"We are different, aren't we?" Sherlock said, smiling at his tea. "I like how we're different. I hope it doesn't cause you any . . . anxiety. I know you don't always appreciate difference as I do."

"I like it too, Sherlock. Honest," John smiled at him and sipped at his tea.

Sherlock took a bite of toast. "I wonder what other differences we will find tonight?" he said, opening the paper again so he had a reason not to look at John.

"What's that mean?" John asked, immediately a bit panicked.

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "I have been enjoying trying new things and I wonder if we will keep doing so. That's all. Don't panic. Think of it like an experiment, if that helps. Or . . . don't. And we can stop it all. Whatever you want." He took a bit of food. "I mean it. You can stop it at any time." He swallowed some tea. "As can I. Though I don't think I will just yet."

"What experiment exactly?" John asked, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

"Oh, don't get defensive -- I'm not conducting an experiment on you . . . or us. I'm just saying one could think of it like an experiment. Like, how different is our friendship? What could two friends do to make them different to other flatmates without damaging what they've already got?" He moved some food around his plate. "It's just a way of looking at it. Disregard if you find it unhelpful or upsetting." He looked at John. "You can do that at any time you know. Disregard it, stop it and go back. Anytime."

John met his gaze and stared back. "I don't want to stop," he mumbled, despite the fact that they were heading down a dangerous road that would be hard to come back from if things ended badly. What if they ended well? His stomach flipped at the thought.

"Good," Sherlock said, looking down again. "But you will say if you do, right?"

"Yeah," John nodded, going back to his meal.

"Good, then it's settled," Sherlock stood up. "Please leave the dishes by the sink and I will do them on my return. I am now going out." He moved to the door to get his coat and scarf.

"Where? Are you okay?" John asked, following him to the sitting room.  
  
"Of course, I'm okay, I was treated by the best doctor in London," Sherlock said as he tied up his scarf. "It's just that, unlike some people, I cannot afford to miss two days of work. I shall return shortly," he added as he left.

"Okay," John said. Not having anything else to do, he went to do the dishes anyways to pass some time. His mind was racing with their conversation.

Sherlock headed out as if he had a specific destination, but in truth he did not. However, he found that acting as if he did often led him to one and this time was no different. He returned to the flat a few hours later was a small paper bag secreted in his coat pocket. He went directly to his room where he hid the bag and then returned to the sitting room. "John?" he called as he took off his coat.

John heard Sherlock calling and he called from his room to let him know he'd heard him before coming down. "I was just reading," he said as he came into the sitting room. "Did you have a good walk?"

"I did," Sherlock said, heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. "Do you want tea? Actually, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't. It was nothing important. And yes please," John said, sitting in his chair.

Sherlock made the tea and brought John's over to him. He sat down on the sofa. "It's a nice day to be out, are you sure you want to stay in the flat all afternoon?" he asked.

John thanked him for the tea and shrugged. "Did you have something in mind? I don't mind going out."

"Nothing in particular," Sherlock said. "I just wondered. I suppose staying in is a treat for you since you're not going out to work. Did you want to go out somewhere?"

John thought for a second. "Is it nice enough to sit in the park?"

"I think it is," Sherlock said. "If you bundle up a bit, the nip in the air will feel quite nice. After our tea, shall we?"

"Damn, and here I was planning on just wearing a bed sheet," John said in mock disappointment.

"That's up to you, Doctor," Sherlock said. "You can use your own judgment." He took a sip of tea. "Why do you want to sit in the park? Are you watching someone?"

John shook his head. "I never used to care about being outside, but in Afghanistan we were outside all the time and it was never -- well, hardly ever -- good. Ever since I came back I've enjoyed sitting in the park, I guess to remember that it can be good, too." He stared down at his tea as he spoke, never having admitted that before. "It can be breezy, quiet, warm, comfortable, sunny . . . just not dusty, loud, and chaotic."

Sherlock looked at John. He was a sweet man, but Sherlock didn't think he should say it aloud. "We should be able to find a place that's breezy and sunny, but I can't guarantee it'll be quiet."

"There won't be bombs," he said, looking up now and smiling lightly.

"Fingers crossed," Sherlock said. "No, it shall be nice to sit with you -- it feels like spring is coming." Sherlock finished his tea. "We should get milk as well. I meant to earlier but I forgot."

"Of course you did," John grinned. "We can get it later."

Sherlock stood up and stretched. "Shall we?" he said as he picked up both mugs and set them near the sink. "I'll wash those when we return." He bundled up and opened the door for John.

John shrugged on his coat and led the way out of the flat. There was a slight chill, but it really was nice out.

Sherlock led them not to the nearest park, but to the nearest green park, as he thought it was suit John's purposes more effectively. They found a bench and sat down. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and took in the sounds before he opened them and looked around. Then he smiled at John and said, "Does this work?"

John nodded. "This is perfect."

"Good," Sherlock said. He turned again to look at the world around him. He wondered what was in John's head and hoped that it was good, whatever it was.

John closed his own eyes, listening around him. There was a small breeze and he smiled softly. He took a deep breath, reached over and took Sherlock's hand. His stomach flipped nervously, but it felt right. He kept his eyes closed. It was all very relaxing.

John's hand in Sherlock's was good. A connection. It meant that, whatever else was going on in John's head, Sherlock was in there, too, and that made Sherlock feel warm.

John didn't know how long they sat there. Eventually he started to get cold. He gently pulled his hand out of Sherlock's and opened his eyes. "I'm cold," he said quietly.

Sherlock slapped his hands onto his legs before he stood. "It is cold now," he said, pulling up his collar. "Do you want my scarf?"

"No thanks," John said, zipping up his coat all the way. "The walk isn't so bad."

"Your cheeks are pink," Sherlock said as he tucked his hands into his pockets. As they passed a corner shop, Sherlock nodded his heads towards it. "The milk," he said as he ducked in.

"Oh yeah," John said following him in.

Sherlock got the milk and then they were out on the street again. The walk back to Baker Street seemed a little longer -- it definitely seemed colder than before. When they got back, Sherlock immediately turned on the kettle. A cup of tea would warm him up. He knew it was just the weather, but he didn't want to risk anything so soon after the fever.

John started a fire, pulling his chair closer to it before he went up to change into something warmer.

Sherlock set the cups of tea down on the table and sat himself on a chair close to the fire. He held the mug in his hand. That and the fire felt good, warming his whole body. He closed his eyes as he waited for John to return.

John came back in flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt. "Thanks," he said, taking the mug and holding it in both hands.

"I'm glad we went out, but it chilled my bones," Sherlock said. "Thanks for making the fire, it's warming me up nicely." He took a drink. "I hope you enjoyed your day off work."

"I did," John nodded. "It'll help me get through tomorrow," he smiled.

"Good," Sherlock smiled widely at him. "It's been good having you here, not just to look after me but just to spend some time together." He supposed it sounded silly -- after all, they lived and often worked together. They spent a lot of time together all the time. But this felt different. In a good way.

John smiled. "Yeah -- almost like a holiday, only I was still working," he teased.

Sherlock frowned. "Don't say that. Don't say I'm work. I know I am," he was looking at the fire, "but don't say it."

John got off of his chair and moved over to Sherlock, touching the chair. "No, Sherlock, I was teasing. I promise. I liked being home with you. You even gave me a nice massage, remember?" He tried to catch Sherlock's eye and smile.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. "I seem to be slightly more sensitive than usual. But during the last couple days . . . I just feel so highly aware of the inequalities in our relationship. I might tease that you make me work when you don't figure out things as quickly as I do, but I can see how I make you work -- make you properly work -- and that doesn't seem right. I want to make things right, make them more equal." He squeezed John's hand.

"Please don't," John shook his head. "Please. There is no difference. You're a good friend, a good person. I like spending time with you. I promise. Please?" He said it a third time, a bit more desperately.

"John, don't be like that," Sherlock said. "You're using puppy dog eyes, you're being inappropriately sweet. I'm not looking for you to soothe me, I'm trying to be realistic. I don't give what you give, not because I don't care, but because I'm not sure how to. I've never done it, I've never wanted to." He looked at John more softly and picked up his hands in his. "But I want to now, that's all I was trying to say. Please understand."

"I do," John nodded. "I just don't want you to feel bad."

"Well, don't worry about that. I can't change how things were so I'm just trying to think of how things should be now," he smiled. "I won't be so sensitive about your teasing. I like when we both tease. Don't you change anything, okay?"

"I won't change," John said, moving into his chair again. "But you don't either, okay?"

"I won't be untrue to myself, but I may change . . . a little," Sherlock said. "Be reassured I will only change for good, not evil. I will just keep getting better and better until you can't even bear it anymore."

John laughed softly. "Well, when you put it like that," he smiled. 

Sherlock stood up. "I think I'll work for a bit," he said and he moved to get his laptop. "I'll be in my room."

"Oh, all right," John said, a bit taken aback. He looked around for his book before remembering it was in Sherlock's room. He picked up his laptop instead. 

Sherlock went into his room. He looked at his website and then read John's blog. He didn't have a case and he was bored. Perhaps that's why he was so focused on John? He read the newspapers online and looked at his horoscope. Then he set his laptop aside and lay down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling.

John browsed his blog and answered a few messages, but after that there was nothing really for him to do. Then he had a bit of a silly idea, but he's been doing a lot of silly things lately. Smiling to himself, he wrote out the 'two flatmates' case, starting with the fever and then everything that happened afterwards. He stared at it. People were already talking on the blog. If he posted this . . . the thing would probably crash! He read it through twice, glanced up at Sherlock's room, added a 'to be continued' and then posted it. He shut the laptop quickly as if that wouldn't make it as weird and put it down on the floor. It was done now. 

Sherlock eventually sat up again. He picked up his phone and saw that he had an email alert. He opened his laptop and clicked on the link to John's new post. With no new case, what was John writing about? He read the post, not really believing he had written that. There were already comments.

He set his laptop aside and walked downstairs. From the bottom step, he said, "What were you thinking?"

"I was bored," John said, looking over at him. Was he mad? John couldn't tell yet.

"Didn't you tell me once not to do dangerous things just because I was bored?" Sherlock said. He hadn't moved from the step yet.

"I didn't shoot the wall or anything . . ." John said, a bit worried now. "I can take it down, if you want." Even though he knew it would be too late for that. 

"Please do," Sherlock said. He turned and went back up to his room.


	7. Could Be Dangerous

Oh. John picked up his laptop, got back onto the blog and, after reading the comments, he deleted the post. He felt ashamed now; he closed the laptop and he pulled his legs up onto his chair. 

Sherlock was lying on the bed. There was too much in his head and he had to let some out. He picked up his phone.

_It was supposed to be just us. SH_

John felt his phone vibrate and he looked up towards Sherlock's room again. He fished it out of his pocket and bit his lip. 

_It's still just us. I'm sorry. -JW_

_Us and all those who read your blog. SH_

_Donovan. Anderson. Lestrade. SH_

_Ergo, not just us. SH_

_I wasn't thinking. -JW_

He was lying, of course. He was thinking that this was going somewhere. He didn't know what it would get there, but it was going somewhere and it would be so much easier to explain -- to accept -- if there was a beginning. A place where they could all say 'oh yeah, it started with the fever'. 

_You rarely do things without thinking, John. Why now? SH_

You _rarely do things without thinking. I'm an idiot. -JW_

_You're not an idiot. But it was too impulsive. SH_

_What is going to happen now, John? SH_

_Nothing is going to happen. It doesn't matter if something does happen. It's about you and me. The blog doesn't change that. -JW_

_Are you going to sleep in my room tonight? SH_

_If you'll still let me. -JW_

John was glad Sherlock had brought that up first because he was on edge now and would have slept on the sofa before walking in there uninvited. 

_And will you be blogging about it tomorrow? SH_

_I said I was sorry. -JW_

_I hadn't realised what happened in my bed was a possible topic. So I thought I'd better check. SH_

_If you are feeling guilty, a cup of tea might help me forgive. SH_

John smiled at the message. 

_I suppose I can manage that. -JW_

_I'll see you shortly then. SH  
_

Sherlock had spent the last day or two trying to understand what John was thinking, but this move had legitimately surprised him. Perhaps he should have spent the time analysing what he himself had been thinking. Now he had five minutes before John would be standing in his doorway. That wasn't enough time to figure out what was going on in either of their heads.

John started the kettle and leaned against the counter. What a stupid, impulsive thing to do. But it could be good in the long run. _If it's going where you think it's going_ , John thought, biting his lip. If Sherlock had no idea about what was happening -- if he was so naive as to think this was normal friend stuff -- then it would be a very bad move indeed. But Sherlock was not stupid. _He had to know, right? Why do you want this so badly?_ John ignored that particular thought, choosing not to think about that at the moment. He took the mug to Sherlock's room, setting it down on his bedside table and meeting his gaze. 

Sherlock looked away. He took the mug and swallowed a sip despite it being too hot and then set it back on the table. Then he got up from the bed and stood in front of John.

The situation they now found themselves in was unusual, but whatever else it was, it was true. He knew who he was, he was Sherlock Holmes. And the man before him was John Watson, his flatmate, his colleague, his friend. It was just him and John in a, yes, unusual situation, but god knows they'd been through unusual situations before. This was just a new one. And they would be okay whatever happened next. And what happened next was Sherlock's move so he did what seemed most true. He slipped his arms around him and pressed his cheek against John's. He held it there for a moment, like a kind of kiss, before pulling back and saying, "Let's lie down by each other."

John's whole body tensed and Sherlock hugged him, every nerve flooding with heat. When their cheeks touched, John instinctively turned into him, pressing back against him. And just like that it was over and Sherlock was pulling away. "Okay," he agreed quietly. He forgot pajamas again, so after moving to the other side of the bed -- his side of the bed? -- he took off his jeans and jumper, climbing into bed with just his t-shirt and pants. 

Sherlock got into the bed. He turned off the light and lay in silence for just a moment. Then he moved towards John, his arms sliding around his back, pulling their bodies together. He pressed his forehead against John's and said, "What are we going to do about this?"

"Sherlock," John said quietly. This wasn't . . . a good idea. Heat was pooling in his stomach again and he was nervous. He tilted his head down, looking away.

"Don't," Sherlock said. "Don't not look at me. I thought we were doing one thing, but you posted that, now I worry I don't know exactly what we're doing. I don't want to stop it, but I need an idea, John, I need to know."

John forced his eyes back up. "What do you think is happening?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock had wanted John to go first, but he was just tired of the mystery, so he spoke. "I thought we were being closer. I thought we were trying something new. I thought . . . we were doing something that was missing."

"It is new and different," John held his gaze. "The fact that we're getting closer -- closer like this -- it scares me," he admitted.

"I knew it!" Sherlock said. "You have to be more honest. Especially now. Don't not tell me. What are you afraid of?"

"My feelings," he said quietly. "I think I'm -- well -- I'm feeling a lot of serious things."

Sherlock lay back flat on the bed again and thought for a moment. He was pretty sure he knew what John was talking about. He wondered about his own feelings -- they confused him, yes, but he didn't think they scared him. Yet he also seemed pretty committed to ignoring them these last few days. Why had he been doing that?

He closed his eyes and thought hard about the answer to that question. For so long he had resisted any feelings -- instead of letting them scare or confuse him, he just didn't let himself have them. But John had changed that. Slowly, yes, but Sherlock had been changed by John. He wasn't ready to go back now.

Sherlock opened his eyes and said, "Sometimes you are extremely inconsistent, John Watson. You want to stop something nice, you pretend things didn't happen as they did -- all because you're afraid of serious feelings. Then you post the details of what happened for a worldwide audience to read. It's plain you are confused and scared by your feelings, but I would suggest you change your perspective slightly."  
  
He turned over and faced John. "Perhaps you could take a cue from me. I don't really know what I'm feeling except that I like the closeness. I like it and I want it. I don't know what it means and I'm not sure I care. Feelings aren't as logical as cases, it seems a shame to waste energy trying to analyse them. Every day both of us do things that affect the other, every day both of us do things that could change our relationship. Things can always change. For better or for worse. If we both are aware of this and promise to be thoughtful about it, can't we just go on? Can't we just try new things and handle whatever happens, whatever changes occur?"

John watched him for a bit before turning on his back as well, staring at the ceiling. Why was he being so stupid? Saying silly things and making impulsive decisions -- it was all so stupid. He took a deep breath and he just stared at the ceiling even as he spoke. "I wanted to stop nice things because I wasn't sure what they meant . . . the things they were doing to me. I pretended they hadn't happened because I thought that might make it easier to move on. And I posted the story because I was hoping that, if I made it funny, it would be easier to laugh it off and move on." He paused and thought for a moment. "I can't just keep doing things with you and not know what they mean . . . what you want out of them. Because I know what I would like out of them and it scares me because I don't know if you want the same thing and if you don't then it will hurt and I don't want to be doing all of these things just to end up hurting."

Sherlock took that in. "When you say it like that, it does sound scary." Sherlock swallowed. "I don't want to hurt you, John. I don't want you to be hurt. That's more important than my wanting the closeness. If you think stopping would guarantee that you don't get hurt, we can stop." He turned away.

"Tell me what you want out of this . . .the closeness, I mean. Does it just feel good? Is that all?"

Sherlock didn't turned over. "It does feel good. It makes me body feel good and it makes me feel . . . good inside as well. Isn't that enough to want it? What more is there?"

"That's what I want, too." John turned to face him, stared at his back for a moment and placed his hand gently on Sherlock's back. "That's why I don't want to date anymore. I get these feelings from you and . . . and I don't want them from someone else. I want them from you."

"I don't know what to do, John. We both know my tendency is selfishness, perhaps I'm just being selfish. You know these things better than me. You know the potential hurt and I don't. Maybe we should stop then?"

 _Why did he keep suggesting they stop?_ John thought. _Oh, of course._ Sherlock probably had no interest in a relationship, he'd said that before. He pulled his hand away. "Okay," he said quietly, slowly getting out of bed.

"Really?" Sherlock said, sitting up. "Is that what you really want to do?"

"I told you what I wanted," John said, turning to face him.

"I don't understand," Sherlock said honestly. "You said you want those feelings from me and you get them from me. You said you can't keep doing things with me without knowing if what I want out of them is what you want. I told you what I want and you said that's what you want too. Why stop? Because one day in the future one of us might want something else? One day in the future, one of us might be hit by a bus -- should that stop any of us from living?"

Sherlock swallowed. His throat was dry so he took a sip of tea. He stared at the cup of tea and said, "When we first met, I said ‘could be dangerous’ but there you were. This is just the same, isn't it?" He looked up at John. "Except you're the expert this time. You're the one saying ‘could be dangerous’ and . . . here I am, John."

John stared at him for a moment before climbing back onto the bed and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck, burying his head there. He didn't know what to say, completely floored by what Sherlock had said. He didn't want to look up and see the hurt look on his face so he stayed there, simply holding him. "I'm falling in love with you," he mumbled finally.

Sherlock pressed into John. He put his mouth to John's ear and whispered, "New, unusual and possibly dangerous." He held John to him. "Don't stop."

John shook his head. "I won't," he said as he tightened his grip a bit.

Sherlock pressed his lips against John's earlobe. It wasn't much, he knew, but it would have to work. He wasn't sure what to do next.

John bit his lip and turned his head up, kissing his cheek. He rested his forehead on Sherlock's temple.

Sherlock swallowed. "Let's kiss properly," he said awkwardly.

John moved up more and met his eyes, glancing at Sherlock's lips and automatically licking his own. He moved forward and pressed their lips together, his hand holding Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock let John kiss him. Then he realised he was kissing John back. His hand went up to John's hair as their mouths pressed together.

John moved his lips to open Sherlock's mouth a bit, trying to deepen the kiss. He flicked his tongue out against his lip to see if that would be okay.

Sherlock let his mouth open to John. It was strange. Of course, he had done this before but it was so long ago and so . . . different. He'd never admit it to John but all of a sudden, he knew it did seem scary. This kiss meant something. He turned off his head and let himself go, move into this new thing between them. He let his tongue touch John's. He closed his eyes.

John hummed softly when their tongues met, glad that Sherlock had made that move. It reassured John that he wanted this and his nerves went down a bit. He moved his tongue with Sherlock's, his other hand now coming up to rest on his chest, near his shoulder.

This closeness, it was good. Sherlock's fingers gripped John's hair and pushed his head. He felt electric -- this kiss was connection, it was need, it was desire, everything, the only thing.

John moaned and scooted closer, his fingers now gripping Sherlock's shirt tightly.

Sherlock had to breathe. He moved his mouth from John's but kept his hands in his hair, holding his head so he could look into his eyes. "Is that what you've wanted? Is that what you've been missing?" He kept his gaze. "I didn't know . . . it was what I wanted, what I was missing. But now I do."

John nodded. "I'm selfish, too. I want to take everything you'll give me . . . I want to give you everything," he rambled.

Sherlock squeezed John to him. He smiled and tangled his legs with John's. "I feel like I want to be closer, it's an odd feeling. But good."

John nodded. "I've never been affected like this before. I mean, I've been attracted, sure, but this . . . it feels so much more intense. That's why it scares me."

"You can't not tell me things, John," Sherlock said. "I don't say because I don't know -- if you know, you must tell me, yeah?" Sherlock rubbed John's head. He leaned in and kissed John's mouth softly and quickly.

John nodded. "I will. I'm sorry I was acting so . . . so stupid," he said.

"You weren't being stupid," Sherlock said. "But talking more about these kinds of things, we both must do more of that." He kissed John's neck softly. "I don't mean at the moment . . . "

John tilted his head a bit, smiling softly. "It was stupid," he insisted quietly. "Just know you won't be able to shut me up," he teased. 

"I will find a way to cope, I am sure," Sherlock said. He moved onto his back, sliding his arm under John's shoulders. He used his other hand to fiddle with John's shirt.

John smiled and looked at him. "Talk to me, too, okay? And I'll help you understand, as best I can."

"I will . . . or at least I will text," he smiled.

John smiled wider. "I can live with that."

"What now?" Sherlock asked. "Are you sleepy? Have we done our new thing for the day?"

John chuckled. "I suppose so. I'm a bit tired. You?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I am both very sleepy and very awake. But we can try to sleep if you want."

"We can experiment more tomorrow, yeah?"

"There's no rush," Sherlock said. "I'm not quite sure where we're going, so I won't be rushing us to get there. I like the way things have been." His voice was starting to sound sleepy.

John curled into him. "Me too," he murmured. He shifted a bit and pet Sherlock's hair softly.

"Seems strange we never touched like this before," Sherlock said. "It's so nice. It's a comfort." He felt his body to start to soften and his breath start to slow.

John smiled. "Didn't realise you'd be such a cuddler," he teased.

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm human. I just hadn't met the right cuddler, I suppose," Sherlock said, smiling at John and wiggling against him.

John chuckled and pulled him closer. "Lucky me," he murmured.

"Sometimes you are very silly, John Watson," Sherlock said. "You need to stop talking or I may want more kissing."

"Not a very convincing argument," John laughed. 

Sherlock sat himself up a bit, using his elbow for a prop. He kissed John on the mouth. "You know more about these things than I do. I don't want to do something wrong."

John leaned forward and kissed him hard, pushing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, holding the back of his head, and making his movements slow and passionate. He pulled away grinning. "If you've going to threaten kisses to shut me up, I feel like they should at least take my breath away." 

Sherlock's breath was taken away. "That was a bit cruel, John. I was trying to go slowly, but now I'm afraid you've given my body some new ideas." He slid on top of John and kissed him again, trying to copy what John had just done to him.

John kissed him back, smiling into the kiss and wrapping his arms around him. 

"Don't stop," Sherlock said. He pulled on one of John's arms and stretched it out to the side, squeezing John's hand in his own. He kissed John again, harder.

John gripped his hand and kissed him back. The movement reminded him of Sherlock rubbing his arms during the massage. He moaned at the memory and the kiss he was getting now.   

Sherlock found John's noises very pleasing. He thought for a second about what other noises he may hear from John one day. He moved his body against John's a bit, moving deeper into the kiss.

John's free hand came up to his hair, lacing into the curls as they kissed. John mimicked his movements and arched his body into Sherlock's. 

This was another new thing. It wasn't just hands touching, it wasn't just kissing, it was something more and Sherlock had started it. The movement of their bodies was making Sherlock feel warm, a physical heat inside and out. Sherlock's other hand slipped to John's head into John's hair. He felt like he needed to be closer.

The kiss was becoming sloppy and John was starting to writhe a bit under Sherlock. He was feeling very hot.  

Sherlock felt his breathing change. "John, this is very much more. I feel embarrassingly unsure what to do. Is it okay to keep going?"

John nodded. "If you want to," he murmured. "I'll go with you."

Sherlock swallowed. "What do we do next?" he said, looking down at John's face.

John leaned up and kissed him softly. "We take something off," he murmured, starting on the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. 

Sherlock looked down and watched John take off his shirt. "I'm cold now," Sherlock said and slipped to John's side, pulling the covers up over the two of them. He turned John towards him and pulled on John's shirt, helping him take it off. It was a little awkward under the covers but the minute it was over John's head, Sherlock pulled him closer, pressing their bare chests together. "Your skin is warm," he said, letting his hands move over John's back. He kissed John on the mouth again, harder, like before.

"Because of you," he whispered, kissing him back, his hands grazing over Sherlock's chest. He managed to get them down and he slowly unbuttoned Sherlock's trousers.

Sherlock inhaled slowly. He moved his body to help John. Now they were both naked except their pants. Sherlock thought about taking his off, he thought about taking John's off, he thought about pressing against John right now. But instead he didn't move and waited to see what John would do next.

John bucked his hips up lightly so their erections pressed together. "How far do you want to go?" he asked.

Sherlock almost winced from the feeling, but it didn't hurt. It was good. And the thought that it was mutual, that both of them felt it, made it even better. "I don't know," he mumbled, "but I don't want to stop."

John flipped them so he was on top, straddling Sherlock's hips. "Okay," he nodded. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock's mouth before moving along his jaw and down his neck. 

John was making Sherlock feel things he hadn't felt in a long time, things he thought were no longer a part of his life. As good as he felt, he worried about the promise he had made to himself and to John about giving back, about doing for John as John does for him. He was worried about not knowing what to do. That was not a good feeling for Sherlock, but he wouldn't let it ruin things. He whispered, "John, I feel a little nervous. Not scared, just nervous."

"We don't have to do anything right now," he murmured, pecking small kisses on his shoulder. "I want you to be comfortable, to be sure."

"I am more than comfortable," Sherlock smiled. "And I'm also sure. The fact that I don't know what to do is not one I'm used to and does cause a little anxiety, but not enough to stop, I assure you." He moved one of his hands to John's back. "I just thought I should tell you since that's what we said we would do."

John leaned up and kissed his mouth softly. "Okay," he smiled, going back to kiss down his chest. His hands caressed Sherlock's sides as he moved down. 

Sherlock decided he'd turn off his brain and let his body decide, hoping it wasn't quite as selfish as his brain usually was. He looked up at the ceiling as John kissed his chest, the kisses so soft they almost tickled. His hands wanted to do something, so the one touching John moved to John's shoulder and he gripped the muscles lightly. He lifted his other one to behind his own head, tipping it up so he could watch John kissing him.

John glanced up and smiled, now moving down onto his stomach, flicking his tongue out between kisses. 

Sherlock's body curled up to meet John's mouth. He watched how lightly John touched him, how precisely his mouth moved. He felt warm, he was sure his cheeks were flushed, but the heat was not worrying like the fever was, even though it, too, produced a kind of ache in his body.

When John reached Sherlock's pants he paused and slipped his fingers into the elastic, tugging down slowly.

Sherlock lifted his hips to help John. He wasn't sure if he should feel vulnerable, but he didn't, his anticipation was distracting him from any worries. He was going to be touched by another person and that other person was John. He closed his eyes now so he couldn't see what was happening; he would only know when it actually happened.

Tossing Sherlock's pants on the ground, John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock and stroked him a few times before gently sucking on the head. It was an odd thought to be doing this, but it didn't feel odd at all.

Sherlock's body arched at John's touch and then the warm, wetness of his mouth -- Sherlock went stupid for a moment and couldn't make any words. Then, without looking down, he quietly asked, "Have you done this before?"

John shook his head. "No, but I've had enough," he said softly. "I'm just . . . copying, I guess."

"What you do to me then . . . is the way you like it done to you?" he asked.

"Yeah -- this will be my first time but I'm going to try, okay?" Women who had done it to him before were experienced and had several little tricks. John hoped he could make this good. He sucked Sherlock back into his mouth.

Sherlock was trying his best to pay attention, to make mental notes so he knew what to do when he did it to John. Which he knew he would. Which he was looking forward to doing. But it was difficult to concentrate, with John's mouth and tongue moving around him. The unusual and very, very good feeling of being in John's mouth was overtaking any kind of clear thought. He focused on his breathing instead, so he could let everything else go. He made a noise, a small humming moan, which he hoped John would understand meant that he loved what was happening.

Encouraged but Sherlock's soft sounds, John bobbed a bit faster, stroking what he couldn't fit in his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the tip and his free hand massaged Sherlock's balls gently. He liked this -- he liked what it was doing to Sherlock and that he was making him feel so good. 

Sherlock moved his hand from his own hair to John's, tangling his fingers in it, just allowing it to move as John's head did. Despite John's apparent lack of experience doing this, he was doing very well, which made Sherlock encouraged about his own ability. He could feel his hips rocking slightly, following John's movement and the ache intensified.

John hummed at the feel of his hand, moaning around him so he could feel it, feel how much he was enjoying doing it. He looked up, his own hips bucking into the bed for friction. He was getting comfortable and taking more of Sherlock into his mouth. 

A thought flickered in Sherlock's head -- was this it, was this the explanation behind the urge to be closer to John? He couldn't get much closer to John than being inside him, part of Sherlock was inside John right now. Their friendship before, they were inside each other's heads, yes, but now, literally, he was inside John. Is this what had been driving Sherlock's requests the past few days? He honestly hadn't known, but he guessed it must have been. He must have been missing this kind of closeness, just as John had. He must have been wanting it, wanting it with John. How unusual, but god, John was unusual and Sherlock loved that he was.

John slipped Sherlock out of his mouth and dipped down, kissing and sucking on his balls now. He huffed out hot breaths and licked his way up along the shaft, the underside, the left side, and then the right before sucking him down again. 

John's movements were so good that Sherlock found himself tensing a little and he said softly, "John, I think I need a break for a moment." He sat up a little, pulling his body away from John's mouth and motioned for John to come up and lie beside him.

John crawled up and lay next to him, having at him and petting his hair. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock nuzzled against John's neck and whispered in his ear, "I can't tell you how fantastic that was, John. It felt so good, almost too good, I don't want that feeling to end yet. Thank you for giving this to me." He slid a hand to John's cock, palming it through his pants. It was hard which meant he hadn't just been doing that for Sherlock, he liked doing it. And the thought of that made Sherlock want. He pulled at John's pants so he could grip John. He moved his hand slowly at first, a steady stroke from top to bottom and found that his entire body was following the movement as well. He pressed into John as he moved, both of them now completely naked with each other for the first time. Their skin touched in places it had never done so before. Sherlock's mouth moved down to John's neck and he kissed and sucked it as his hand and body moved against John.

"Sherlock," John moaned, his hips moving in a slow and rolling motion into Sherlock's hand. He was so flushed, it was almost overwhelming. His breathing was shaking and hot and small little moans escaped his throat as he breathed.

Sherlock had always liked hearing John say his name, but in this way, god, it was gorgeous and made a pulse run through his body. Sherlock slid his body down John's, using his mouth to trail from John's neck down his chest and belly to his cock. He kept his tongue moving, switching between soft flicks and quick kisses. He gripped one of John's thighs and then slipped his hand between his legs, holding John's balls as he covered his cock with his breath and mouth.

"Sherlock . . . fuck . . ." he panted, bringing a hand up to his face and rubbing it hard. He'd never been so affected before. He imagined Sherlock's hands -- those long, slender fingers -- wrapped around such an intimate part of him. And that mouth! He whimpered softly and propped himself up to look.  

Sherlock had already noted an advantage to this new aspect of their relationship: he didn't have to wait for John to use words to explain what he was feeling -- John's body revealed it. He intended to take full advantage of this. He used his other hand to tip John's cock, slipping it into his mouth. He mimicked some of John's techniques, but he also found himself moving without thinking at all, as if he already knew what to do and had just been waiting to do it. What he was doing to John felt as good to Sherlock as what John had done to him; the two of them together, he pictured it in his mind, and he thought he could come from just that thought. But instead he focused on John's body -- moving his hands and mouth and skin over it.

"That's . . . that's so good," John moaned softly. He slipped his hand into Sherlock's hair but was unsure how much longer he could support himself to keep watching. His head dipped back as his breathing quickened and with that he slowly slipped back into lying flat. He was arching his back over and over, wanting to move but also to keep still for Sherlock. The heat flooding though every nerve was such a rush.  

Sherlock hummed as he sucked John. Now John was inside him. This closeness made him ache and want and -- need -- now he realised he actually needed it. He had to calm himself down again. He slid back up John's body. He held both their cocks in his hand, moving them against each other. "John," he whispered, "It's too good. I just want more."

"I need . . . a second, please," John whispered, shaking his head. Sherlock's weight over him and their cocks held together like that after what Sherlock had already done. He'd come any second now if Sherlock continued. 

"Okay," Sherlock said, dropping his hand and moving just slightly away. He smiled at John and then his smile turned to a stupid grin which turned to a stupid giggle. "Oh my god, John, what have we done here? This is kind of crazy and amazing and I . . . love it." He grabbed one of John's hands and squeezed it. "I love it," he repeated once his silliness has subsided.

John laughed breathlessly and nodded. "It did escalate rather quickly," he said, gazing up at Sherlock. "I love it, too. I love you," he sighed. 

"And I love you," Sherlock said, moving his hands to John's cheeks and kissed his mouth softly. "It turns out that's what our difference has been all along. You silly, sexy person, I love you."

John grinned. "I knew that was the difference," he admitted. "But I only assumed that was my difference. I never thought you'd feel the same way." He brought his hand up and covered Sherlock's on his cheek. 

"Just think of the trouble we could have saved had you just said something," Sherlock said. "Maybe had we started this a week ago, I'd have never been poorly. I'm just saying . . . " Sherlock kissed John's cheek quickly. "I want to touch again. Please."

"You would have been poorly and we would have had to pause all of this for you to get better, and just when we'd be discovering it," he smiled. John then nodded and released Sherlock's hand. "Okay," he murmured. 

Sherlock pushed into John. He gripped John's hips and rocked them against his own as he sucked on John's neck. "Remember how we said we should tell each other things? Tell me what we're going to do next."

"I -- " John could hardly think straight as they bucked against each other. "I want . . .to have sex with you . . .proper," he breathed, pushing up into Sherlock. 

Sherlock smiled against John's neck. "That's good. I'm glad you said," he said softly. His hands slowed their rocking and he looked up at John's face. "How do you want to do it?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, meeting Sherlock eyes. "I -- I've done it before so I can do it, if you want," he murmured. 

"Okay, let's do it that way," Sherlock leaned over and pulled a paper bag from his bedside table. He threw it towards John, who pulled out a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. "So we can do it properly," he said.


	8. Properly

"When did you get these?" John asked, surprised. 

"The other day," Sherlock said. "I'm human, John. At the very least, I thought I might need to relieve myself. I suppose I was aware that someone else . . . you . . . might possibly be involved." He looked down and quietly said, "I hope that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," John smiled. He tore a condom off of the long strip and set it next to him before taking out the lube and putting the bag on the ground. "Ready?" he asked quietly. 

"Yes," Sherlock said, "Shall I lie back or . . .? Tell me."

John wanted to be selfish and look at him while it happened, but instead he said, "If you are on your hands and knees it might be easier than lying on your back."

"Kiss me first," he said leaning in, "All right then." He shifted his body, pulling the pillows together to lean on. "John," he said quietly, "start slow, yeah?"

"I promise," John nodded. "Tell me if you want to stop, okay?" He poured lube into his hand and coated his fingers, also putting a bit on Sherlock's entrance before tossing the bottle aside. He rubbed his index finger around the muscle before pushing into him slowly. 

Sherlock braced his body for John. All of a sudden it no longer seemed new or unusual, it seemed as usual as if they'd done it a million times. He felt John's finger touch him and then push into him and he welcomed it, he held him inside. He let his head fall into the pillows and gave up everything to John and what was happening.

John bit his lip and moved his finger in and out, slowly at first and then picking up speed, curling it a bit. He added a second one when he saw it was moving easily and he paused, starting slow again so Sherlock could adjust. 

The pressure shot through Sherlock's whole body and with each movement, it grew. He realised he was already gripping the pillows, wanting to call out, to hurry John. It was like all the anticipation of the last few days had filled him at once. Instead, he closed his eyes and found the pleasure in the wait, knowing it wouldn't be much longer.

John brought his free hand up to rub Sherlock's lower back, stretching his fingers and brushing Sherlock's prostate.

"Fuck," Sherlock breathed into the pillows. "God, John," he couldn't make a proper sentence. "Please."

John leaned down and kissed his back. "Just a bit more," he murmured, pushing in a third finger, curling, stretching, and reaching for his prostate.

The soft kisses on his back felt nice. They made Sherlock feel like John was everywhere. He pushed himself back against John's hand, pushed John into him. Noises came from his mouth, but now he couldn't even make words.

After a few more pumps of his hand John slowly pulled his fingers out and bit his lip at the stretched opening. He tore open the condom and rolled it on, put just a bit more lube on his cock just to be sure, and then he slowly pushed into Sherlock. It was so tight and hot, and John groaned as he sank deeper and deeper. 

Sherlock stopped breathing as John pushed in, the air escaped from his throat and his eyes sunk back into his head. His body felt full, full of John, they were connected now. Then he could breathe again and the urge returned and he pushed back as John stretched into him.

"Sherlock . . . Christ . . . " John moaned, burying himself deep. He paused for a moment, let Sherlock adjust, calmed himself down a bit, and then started to move slowly back and forth. 

"John, it's good," Sherlock squeezed the pillows as John started rocking into him. He was almost overwhelmed -- the pressure inside him coupled with the urge to move. He wished he could see John. He shifted his legs slightly and said, "I need to see you, John. Let's change."

John slowly pulled out and helped Sherlock onto his back, pushing his legs up and settling between them. He met Sherlock's eyes, leaned down and kissed him, pushing back into him at the same time. 

Sherlock held John's kiss, letting his hands move to hold his head. As John pushed back in, Sherlock groaned into John's mouth. His hands dropped to John's back, squeezing. He softly bit John's bottom lip. "Move now," he whispered, still clinging to him.

John pumped in and out, slowly building up to a steady rhythm. "Fuck, you feel . . . so good," John panted. He moaned loudly and dropped his head in pleasure. 

Sherlock grabbed John's head again and pulled it towards him so he could kiss John's mouth. Then he just pressed his face into John's, moaning into the skin of John's cheek and neck. He lifted his legs to hook them, pulling John into him. "Closer," he moaned.

John moaned loudly and thrust a bit more awkwardly, trying to move as quickly as he could. He was panting in Sherlock's ear, pressing kisses into his temple and cheek when he could. 

"John, god, I . . ." Sherlock held onto John, his body moving with every thrust. John's weight on him felt good and he curled, as if to get them even more connected. Surely, this was it, this was as close as they could get and it was what Sherlock had wanted and he felt like laughing and crying at how good it was. He could barely breathe but he also wanted it to never stop. He did his best to open his eyes and look up at John's face which was strained with tension but more beautiful than ever. Sherlock pulled it to his and breathed "I love you" into John's skin.

John whimpered and nodded, rolling into Sherlock. "I . . . love you, too," he mumbled, a soft grunt escaping with every movement. Heat was bursting all over his body and he felt the pressure in his groin coiling and building. "Sherlock -- Sherlock . . ."

Sherlock watched John. He was beautiful, the whole thing was beautiful. He wanted to see John come, wanted to be this close at that moment when John had no worries, no fear, nothing in head but pleasure. "John," he whispered, "show me."

John squeezed his eyes shut, flushing that he would be watched by Sherlock -- but it was his Sherlock, and this moment was perfect with him. He whimpered Sherlock's name and a second later he came, mouth hanging open in a silent shout before a groan ripped through and he breathed Sherlock's name over and over. 

Sherlock held John's body around him and into him. "John, John, John," he moaned stupidly at the force of John's last thrust. For this moment, this moment was everything and there was nothing but John inside Sherlock on Sherlock's bed.

John collapsed onto Sherlock, panting heavily. "Did you . . . finish, love?" he breathed. 

Sherlock shook his head softly. He didn't care, he loved what had happened, he loved sharing that with John.

John pecked a couple kisses on his shoulder before propping himself up. He gently pulled out, tied off the condom and then gripped Sherlock, stroking with his hand. 

Sherlock closed his eyes as John stroked him. He imagined what had just happened, he imagined John moving inside him, and imagined John now touching him. He sank back into the bed with all the images in his head. He let himself go, like he had wanted John to do. His face flushed and he held onto John's shoulder as his own body bucked into John's hand. "John," he called out and he curled up, frozen for a moment, and came, his body jerking off the bed. He fell back and lifted a hand to cover his face.

John reached up and gently pulled his hand away from his face. "Let me see, love," he murmured, stroking him through his orgasm and admiring his face. 

Sherlock pulled away his hand and looked at John's face. He smiled softly and reached to pull John towards him. "God, John," he exhaled, "my god, it was . . . good."

John smiled and curled against him, holding him close. "It was fantastic," he agreed. 

"I'm glad," Sherlock said, "I feel happy." He squeezed his arms around John. He couldn't say exactly how much it meant, but he hoped John knew.

John nodded. "Me too. So much," he breathed. He drew small circles on Sherlock's shoulder. 

"I don't want us to stop this," Sherlock said. "I want this change to stay." His voice was starting to sound sleepy again.

"I couldn't go back to how things were before," John admitted. "I'm glad you feel the same way."

"Good, it's just us now, this can be us now," he said, but then he remembered earlier. "But your blog, John. Everyone will know. It won't be just us."

"Were you going to want to keep our relationship a secret?" John asked quietly. 

"It's not that, it's just . . ." Sherlock tried to think of what he wanted to say. "I don't like when people know things about me and I definitely don't like when people know things before I do. I'm sure they all had their suspicions, which your blog as good as confirmed, but it bothers me that we've only just now proved them right." He squeezed John again. "It doesn't matter, I know. We can talk about it tomorrow. It's all right."

"I wanted there to be a build up. When we tell people that we're together, they can say 'this is because of the fever' and they won't ask too many questions. Now I realise that it wouldn't have mattered but before I was scared . . . I didn't know."

Sherlock listened and processed what John was saying. "I take back what I said earlier, John. Sometimes you are an idiot." He smiled. "How about next time you're planning a major change in our relationship, you let me know before you start setting things in motion to plan other people's reactions? And it wasn't because of the fever, you know. They can think that, but don't you."

"I'm sorry," John said again. "I am. And I know it wasn't just because of the fever. But it did help things along," he said. 

"Next time just make your move before involving others," Sherlock said softly. He wasn't cross, but things would be different now -- it wasn't just a shift in their relationship, others would change as well. "Go to sleep now," he said. "I can't take any more of you tonight. My body and head are full of you already. Just promise to be next to me when I wake up, okay?" He kissed John softly on the forehead and stroked his hand.

"I will," John said. "I'm really sorry, Sherlock. Honest." He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling drowsy himself. 

"Stop saying sorry, John," Sherlock said. "It might have been impulsive, but it didn't stop this from happening, did it? We can talk about it tomorrow if we need to. Don't go to sleep thinking of what you did, go to sleep thinking of what we did. That's what I'll be thinking of. I love you."

"I love you, too. And I'll be thinking about that forever," he smiled. 

"Good. Do," Sherlock whispered. "It's ours now, always, no matter." He kept his arm round John, but let his head rest of the other side on the pillow. Like he gave into pleasure, he now needed to give into sleep.

John was sleeping minutes later, snoring softly, his arms loosely draped over Sherlock's stomach. 

Sherlock fell asleep with John next to him. It was good knowing why he wanted the closeness and even better to have got it.

John slept soundly, no dreams, no fidgeting -- the best sleep he'd gotten in a long time.

Sherlock dreamt that he and John went to a crime scene and no one would speak to John. They spoke to Sherlock, as cruelly as usual, but no one acknowledged John's presence, as if he weren't there or Sherlock was the only one who could see him. Sherlock shifted in his sleep and bumped his head on John's on his pillow. He immediately forgot the dream as he woke, mumbling an apology to John.

John blinked his eyes open and scooted more comfortably onto Sherlock. "'S'alright," he mumbled. He was in a light doze now, eyes still closed.  

Sherlock stroked John's hair softly, watching him sleep. He wished it could stay like this -- quiet, soft, just the two of them. He knew it wouldn't; when they woke properly, the world would be there again -- John's work, his work, other people. He just wanted this. He memorised the feeling, filed it away so he could get it back anytime he needed it.

"Go back to sleep," John mumbled, curling against him. He was so warm and comfortable. 

"Don't boss me," Sherlock mumbled as he drifted back to sleep.

John huffed and drifted off again, falling back into a deep sleep.

This time Sherlock didn't dream. He slept -- everything was turned off, shut down, and he just slept like the baby he often was. When he woke up again properly, it was morning. John was still beside him and he curled into him because it made him feel warmer, inside and out.

John woke up and stretched, yawning loudly and smiling over at Sherlock.

"It's just gone nine," Sherlock said softly. "Do you have to go to work?" He tangled himself with John as if that alone would influence the real answer.

"I do," he mumbled, not moving to get up yet. "First day back."  
  
"I suppose it won't work to say I'm not feeling well. Would you stay then?" Sherlock said.

"I would stay if you really asked me to," he said quietly.

Sherlock slid on top of John, but made a little grunt as the soreness hit him. "Well, there is a certain part of me that's feeling a bit not normal," he admitted. He leaned in and nuzzled John's neck. "I want to make you stay here with me all day today and tomorrow and the next, but things can't work like that, can they? We must be grown up about this, mustn't we?"

John wrapped his arms around John and sighed softly in his neck. "Maybe not at the beginning -- we're allowed to be lovesick fools -- the honeymoon phase," he murmured. 

Sherlock eyed John, trying to read whether or not he really thought it was a good idea. They were supposed to be being honest with each other, right? Sherlock began sucking on John's neck. "Don't go then. Or if you have to go, go but come immediately to bed with me when you get back."

"You're making it very difficult to go," John murmured, tilting his neck. He really did have to go in today. Maybe he could ask for less hours or just put his two weeks in. But he needed this job obviously.

Sherlock moved from John's neck to his mouth and kissed him passionately. Then he rolled off and sat up. "That is what you will come home to this evening," he said, cheekily. "Now hurry along and get yourself ready for work. I suppose I can drag myself out of bed to make my own bloody cup of tea."

John sighed and sat up, not even bothering to put clothes on as he headed for the shower. "Come visit me for lunch, at least," he called back to Sherlock. 

"Might be too busy," Sherlock called back, just to be difficult. He headed into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. He opened the door to Mrs Hudson who had brought up the newspaper. She handed it to him and said, "John's been looking after you again . . . I hear."  
  
Sherlock turned. Had she read the blog post or did she mean she could literally hear? He couldn't help but frown. He knew this would happen, he logically understood it would, but he was not best pleased that it was. Still, he could not deny that last night's new things would be worth any grief from others. He poured two cups of tea and flipped through the paper as he waited for John.

Freshly showered, John went with his towel up to his room to get dressed before coming back down and smiling at his mug of tea. "Thanks," he smiled, taking a sip of it before putting some toast on. "If you decide to come meet me for lunch, let me know so I can plan to see patients accordingly," John said. 

"And what do lovesick fools in the honeymoon phase usually do for lunch? If I were to join you -- and I have not committed to doing so yet -- what should I expect?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, you could bring me lunch and we will eat quietly in my office. I could meet you somewhere and we could eat outside. Or you could come to my office without food, we can furiously make out for an hour and I'll have a big dinner," he grinned.

"The third option is indeed intriguing. However, unless your office door has a lock, it is perhaps unwise. Oh, and soundproof walls -- there is a chance that Mrs Hudson heard us last night," Sherlock said. "You were noisier than we were aware, it seems."

"Me!?" John exclaimed, flushing nonetheless. "You were noisier than me!"

"I was not," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "I can do that silently if I need to and although I acknowledge I was not completely silent last night, I was nowhere near as loud as you were. That is indisputable and we can ask Mrs Hudson if you would like an outside opinion."

"You are not going to ask her which one of us she heard last night!" John laughed. "I have to go now. I'll see you later." He kissed Sherlock's head as he passed, munching on his toast as he left. How odd that just hours ago he was a nervous, confused mess and now . . . now, everything was so easy and perfect.

Seconds after John walked out the door, Sherlock picked up his phone.

_Lunch at home. I won't keep you more than an hour. Promise. SH_

_I doubt that but not enough to disagree. See you then. -JW_

He pocketed his phone and figured he'd see as many patients as possible before lunch, maybe even take it a bit late. It always slows down in the afternoon so if he was late or happened to not come back, it wouldn't be that big of a deal.

_I can be trusted. Text me when you're on your way. SH_

Sherlock nipped up to shower but decided on a bath for a good soak. Bending was a little more difficult than usual, but it just made him smile, remembering. He dressed and tidied the flat, even washing the dishes left in the sink. He headed out to ensure that everything would be ready when John came back.

John smiled at the message and started to call patients in, moving through them quickly so he could get home. He wondered what would be waiting for him when he got there.

Once he returned to the flat, Sherlock went up to his room. He tidied up there, stripping the bed and putting on clean sheets. He even went as far as starting the laundry, though he wondered to himself if John would get ideas that love had made him more helpful around the flat: he didn't intend for it to do so permanently. He sat down with his laptop and a cup of tea to wait for John's return.

When it was nearing lunch time John saw two patients in the lobby and called the first one in. Easy, simple flu, out quick.

_One more patient and I'll be on my way. -JW_

He called in the next one as he stuffed his phone away. Bloody nose, another easy one, but he wrote a script to follow up with a specialist. He was free. He let Sarah know he was taking his lunch and he left.

Sherlock's attention moved from his laptop to his phone and when he read the message, he smiled and set his laptop aside. He went to the kitchen, set John's lunch on the counter and turned the kettle on. He had just poured two cups when John came in.

"I got you a sandwich," he said, motioning for John to join him. "And here's your tea. All ready for you so you won't be late back." Sherlock gave John a quick kiss and then turned him towards the counter. "Go ahead then," he said, sliding his arms around John's waist. "I'll just stand here while you eat."

John grinned and settled back against Sherlock, taking a bite of his sandwich. "This is very good. Thank you," John said. "It's my best lunch yet."

"Good," Sherlock said, leaning in and press his lips against John's ear. "You just concentrate on eating." He lowered his hands to John's belt and undid it before opening the trousers and sliding in one hand to rest over John's soft cock. "Did you have a productive morning at work?" he asked and then flicked his tongue all around John's ear.

John cleared his throat and set his sandwich down, tilting his head into Sherlock. "And here I thought you'd behave yourself," he murmured.

"I only promised not to make you late," Sherlock whispered. His hand was now moving on John's cock as he began to suck on John's neck. "You've been gone forever it seems. I get bored without you."

"Mmm . . . I missed you, too," John murmured, bucking lightly into his hand. "Bit of a slow day . . . " He brought his arm up and draped it over Sherlock's neck.

"Keep eating," Sherlock said. "I don't want to be blamed for an empty stomach this afternoon." He turned John and slid down his body. He pulled out John's cock and began slowly licking the shaft before sucking in the tip and swirling his tongue over it.

John buried his fingers in Sherlock's hair. "Can't . . . just now . . . " he murmured, trying to keep his breathing even.

Sherlock felt John stiffening in his mouth. He slid one of his hands around John's legs and gripped where his thigh met his arse. His other hand held John's cock at the base, and he began bobbing his head, taking John further in and slowly sucking as he moved out.

"Fuck," John moaned softly. He blinked his eyes open to watch, still writhing forward lightly, petting Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock glanced up at John. Then he slid him out of his mouth and began kissing his stomach, as he used his hand to steadily stroke John's cock. He stretched the fingers of his other hand to put pressure between John's legs as his strokes picked up speed and he moved back to flicking licks on John's tip.

John whimpered and spread his legs a bit, gripping Sherlock's hair nervously. His stomach twitched at the light touches as he breathed Sherlock's name.

"I want you to come in my mouth, John," Sherlock moaned. "Is it safe to?" he added, hoping John would know what he meant and that the answer would be yes.

"Yes," John nodded. "But -- are you sure?" he asked softly, the thought alone almost pushing him over.

Sherlock looked up at John again. "Of course or I wouldn't have said it," he smiled and then returned to John's cock, stroking and sucking as he used his other hand to push John towards him.

John hesitantly thrust into Sherlock's mouth, gently, moaning at the sight and feel of it. "Sherlock . . . " he breathed, his head falling back for a moment.

Sherlock's body was moving now not just his head and he moved John's body with him. He quickly tugged at John's trousers so he could slip a hand to hold John's balls as he sucked and stroked. He felt himself getting warm and breathless.

"'M'close," John breathed, looking down at him again. It was borderline overwhelming. 

Sherlock shifted his knees slightly, feeling his own hard cock press against his clothes. Everything in him, in John, in the room was building and he did his best to maintain his movements as long as John needed.

"Ah . . . fuck," John moaned loudly as he spilled into Sherlock's mouth. He was helpless to do anything but wait it out, his hips jerking lightly with the force of it.

Sherlock let John's body lead his movements as he swallowed down. He slid both hands around John's legs and gripped them until his body stilled. Then he slowly stood up, used one hand to wipe his lips, and, with the other, touched John's cheek softly and said, "Your tea'll be cold."

John chuckled and rest his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "I don't mind," he murmured. He opened his eyes and looked down at Sherlock's trousers. "I'm more worried about that."

Sherlock undid his trousers and said, "You can help," as he moved John's hand towards him. "But hurry because I don't want you to be late."

John sank down onto his knees and quickly sucked Sherlock into his mouth, his hand stroking what he couldn't fit as he bobbed back and forth.

Sherlock pulled John towards him. "Just use your hand," he said, squeezing his arms around him and kissing his mouth.

"Oh," John managed before he was kissing back, gripping Sherlock and stroking him quickly.

"Yes," Sherlock moaned and moved his hand to the back of John's head. He slipped away from John's mouth and just pressed his cheek against John's, keeping his upper body still as he bucked into to John's hand. "Yes, John . . . yes."

John panted into Sherlock's ear. His hand stroked quickly, his thumb moving across the tip.

"God, John," Sherlock moved his other hand to grip the counter. "God, John, yes . . ." the words escaped his mouth as he came into John's hand. He was panting as he buried his head in John's shoulder to recover.

John tried to catch what he could, but he knew some must have spilled onto the floor. He pecked kisses on Sherlock's cheek and temple.

When he had caught his breath, Sherlock lifted his shoulders and dropped them and then bent his neck from side to side. He zipped himself up, kissed John on the top of the head and turned to flip the kettle back on. He looked at John and smiled and then glanced down. "There's some on your trousers," he said, taking a damp cloth and wiping John's leg before swiping across the floor. "You mustn't get your work clothes messy."

"I could have caught that all," John grinned. He buttoned himself up and pecked Sherlock's lips. 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Do not pass judgments on my fluid production," he said. He poured two new cups of tea and carried them into the sitting room. "Finish your sandwich in here with me," Sherlock said to John.

John brought his sandwich into the sitting room and sat with him. "I'm not judging. I'm just saying, I could have swallowed it," he smiled. 

"Do you want a prize?" Sherlock said, taking a sip. "I don't doubt you could and, at some point, I'll be happy to oblige your desire to prove yourself." He smiled. "But you need to eat food now so you can return to work."

"Yes, yes," John smiled, finished his sandwich and started on his tea. "This was a very nice lunch, but I think a bit much for every day."

Sherlock frowned. "I didn't expect you to come home every day . . . you said we could be foolish at the beginning. I didn't mean to . . ." He looked down at his tea.

John smiled. "I want to see you for lunch everyday," John said. "I just meant that a blowjob every time is . . . well, I'm an old man," he laughed. 

The corner of Sherlock's mouth lifted. "I see," he said, looking up from his tea. "Shame. No fucking tonight, I suppose, then?"

"Let's not get carried away," John laughed. He stood up and stretched. "I have to go, now." 

"Do you need me to help you cross the road, Grandpa, or will you be all right on your own?" Sherlock said, standing as well. Seeing John stretch made him yawn, but he tried to cover it.

John shoved his arm and laughed. "Don't start with me," he said, grabbing his jacket. 

"I won't, but don't be daft. You won't be getting blowjobs everyday but that's got nothing to do with your age, you idiot." He looked at his watch. "What time will you be home?"

"Don't call me names," John pouted playfully. "Five," he answered. 

Sherlock pulled a face at John and then fussed with his hair for a moment. "I am going to get into bed at 3.30. When you come home, I would like you to come in and join me. Will you?"

"Straight to bed with no dinner? You're very demanding," John teased. "I will see you there." He leaned up and pecked Sherlock's cheek before leaving. 

Sherlock tidied away the dishes and finished the laundry. He read through his emails, considering possible cases. Late in the afternoon, he cleaned himself up and went into the bedroom. He put on his pajama bottoms and climbed into bed. The clean sheets felt soft and nice, and Sherlock moved his arms across them. He thought about how different the bed was without John in it. He thought about the past few nights with John, thought especially about last night. He closed his eyes and remembered each detail.

John's mind was stuck at home with Sherlock and the afternoon was proving to be much slower than the morning. 

_No one is here. -JW_

He wished he had stayed home now.

Sherlock reached for his phone.

_I'm in bed remembering. Will you be able to leave early? SH_

_Maybe. I wish I was in bed with you now. Any clues on what you've got planned? -JW_

_I prefer not to plan. SH_

_I love surprises. Patient. Back soon. -JW_

Sherlock set the phone down and rolled over in the bed. He smoothed his hand on the other pillow -- John's pillow? -- and imagined what might happen when John got home, what could happen. What would John want to do? What would Sherlock want to do? Last night was a surprise, what would tonight hold?

_Back. Might come home in an hour. Depends on patients. -JW_

Sherlock picked up his phone and read John's text.

_Does Sarah know about us? SH_

_No one knows. Not really. -JW_

_Tell her. SH_

_Just blurt it out? -JW_

_Work it in to a conversation. Just make sure she knows. SH_

_Why? -JW_

_Why not? SH_

_I thought you were wary of us telling yet. -JW_

_I'm wary of people knowing. Of people. But they will know eventually so what does it matter? SH_

_Okay. I will tell her before I go. -JW_

_And I will reward you when you return. SH_

_Isn't it your turn? -JW_

John smiled and stuffed his phone away. Another patient. At this rate he could just leave them for Sarah.

Sherlock filed a new fact away: to John, blowjobs were currency. Interesting. May be useful in the future. Sherlock closed his eyes. A short nap would be nice. He moved to his side and curled up.

John finished up and checked his phone but saw there was no message. He stuffed it away again. He loved how enthusiastic Sherlock was but he wanted to make sure it wasn't all one sided -- he wanted Sherlock to be happy and satisfied. He took off his coat and went to find Sarah. He knocked on her office door and stepped inside. "It's pretty slow, I think I'm going to take off early." 

"Oh? Yeah, I suppose that's fine. Do you have plans?"

"Uh, yeah," John nodded. "Don't know exactly what, though. Sherlock is taking care of all that."

"Sherlock? Oh," she said, raising her brows at him. 

"It's . . . it just sort of happened," John said.

"What happened exactly?" she asked, crossing her arms now and looking very amused. 

"Oh, don't look at me like that. Yes, we're together, okay? That's all you're getting out of me. I will see you on Monday."

Sarah grinned. "Enjoy your weekend," she laughed but John ignored her. He grabbed his jacket and left for home. 

_On my way. -JW_


	9. Lovesick

The phone's noise woke Sherlock and he felt eager then felt stupid for feeling eager then decided not to care -- he was eager. He listened for the door.

Ten minutes later John was walking into the flat. He took off his jacket and shoes, made a quick stop to the bathroom and then went to Sherlock's room. "Hello?"

Sherlock smiled as John came in. "I'm just going to tell you that I am stupidly happy to see your face. So you know. Come get in the bed with me."

John laughed and climbed up onto his bed. "I am very happy to see you as well," he said. 

"Good," Sherlock smiled. "Take off your clothes, please."

"Well, right to the point, aren't you?" John grinned. He pulled his shirt off and half-kicked his trousers off, looking over at Sherlock. "Aren't you going to as well?" he asked as he took off his pants. 

"I shall," Sherlock said, slipping off his pajama bottoms. "Get in by me now, please." He pulled down the duvet.

John smiled and scooted over to Sherlock, pressing his front to Sherlock's as he wrapped his arms around his waist. 

Sherlock curled around John and gave him a long kiss. "It's not just for this, you know," Sherlock said, "but you said it was all right to be lovesick at the beginning, right? To want to do these things all the time? It's okay that I want to, right?"

John nodded. "Of course it's okay. And I hope that, even when we're not lovesick anymore, I still excite you enough to want to do it all the time," he smiled. 

Sherlock smiled at John and moved his mouth to John's neck where he kissed and nipped the skin. One of his hands gripped John's hand and he pulled both their arms behind John's back. "I like your taste," Sherlock said softly.

John hummed softly and tilted his neck for Sherlock. "I like how you taste, too," he murmured. 

"Your neck tastes different than your mouth," he said softly, moving up to suck on John's earlobe. "Your ear is also different."

John smiled. "Everything tastes different," he said quietly. 

Sherlock smiled back. "Is that so? Turn over," he said, moving so he could spoon John. He licked across the back of John's shoulders. "Hmm . . . this is not all that different from the neck, I think."

John shuddered lightly. "Just a bit," he mumbled. 

Sherlock slid one of his arms around John and pulled himself closer. He spread his fingers out and stroked John's chest. "You're quite muscular . . . for an old man," he said, kissing the back of John's neck.

John chuckled softly. "I've let myself go a bit," he admitted. 

"I like your body," Sherlock said. He moved down a little, sliding his hand to John's hip and kissing and sucking the skin on John's back. "There's a new taste here," he whispered.

John smiled and shifted lightly with his hot breath. "I should work out again," he murmured. 

"Whatever," Sherlock said. "Listen, I want to do something. Turn and face me." Once John had turned, Sherlock gave him a quick kiss and then snuggled his face into John's shoulder. He pulled John's hand to Sherlock's cock. Then he put his mouth by John's ear and said, "Touch me but no talking. Just listen to my breath in your ear. Listen to see how it changes." He drew his hand up to the other side of John's head.

"Okay," John said quietly. He started stroking Sherlock slowly, gliding his fingers over Sherlock's shaft, right up to the head, then slowly back down to the base.

Immediately Sherlock regretted the no talking rule as he had an urge to say John's name, to say yes. But instead he too thought about his breath -- he felt its pattern as he held his mouth to John's ear. He let his fingers slip into John's hair on the other side of his head.

John turned his head and pressed his lips to Sherlock's ear, just breathing as he gripped a bit harder, stroked a bit faster. 

Sherlock's breath quickened. He felt John's change as well, the warm air on his ear. John was making him feel good -- he liked how it felt and liked being aware of every change in his body. He tried not to move, just to feel.

John rubbed his thumb over the tip, slow and a bit hard, huffing out a breath as he spread the precome over his shaft. 

Now Sherlock's breaths were moans. He tried to keep them soft but the noises were part of his breathing now, he couldn't stop if he wanted to. He felt his heart in his chest, his pulse was fast. He kept his mouth against John's ear, slipping John's earlobe into his mouth and sucking, before letting it go, and panting against him.

"I can't help it," John murmured. "Your cock feels so good in my hand." He breathed heavily in Sherlock's ear. 

"John," Sherlock said, "You broke the rule." He kissed John's ear and let himself make noise, moaning softly and repeating John's name. Then he swallowed and whispered, "Will you let me put it inside you?"

John swallowed hard and nodded once. "Yes," he said. 

Sherlock smiled against John's head. "Thank you. Lie back," he said softly and moved to the table to get the lube and condoms. "Lift your hips a bit," he said, sliding a pillow underneath John. He leaned over and kissed him. "Have you done this before?" he whispered.

John was thrown off a bit. "Um . . . no," he shook his head. His stomach flipped nervously as he gazed up at Sherlock. 

"Tell me if you want me to stop . . . even if we start, you can stop it at any time," Sherlock said. He kissed him again. "Promise?"

"I promise," John nodded. He knew it would hurt a bit but he was eager. Sherlock -- his Sherlock -- being inside of him, being that close with him . . . he knew he wouldn't stop. He wanted it. 

"Good. I know what to do -- I'll go slow. You need to think about your breath and listen to what I say. It might hurt a little but then it shouldn't so if it does, you must tell me. I want to make you feel good, John, I want you to love it."

John nodded. "I trust you, Sherlock. I do," he said. 

Sherlock moved between John's legs. He pulled John's hand down to his cock, "You're in charge of this at the start. Concentrate on what you're doing," he said, smiling. He poured some lube into his hands. With one, he softly held John's balls, pulling softly, and with the other, he gripped the inside of John's sigh. He watched John touch himself for a minute. "Sexy," he said.

John stroked himself, nodding at Sherlock and moaning softly at his touches. "I'd rather concentrate on what you're doing," he smiled. 

Sherlock pulled John's legs apart. He moved his hand, slicking everywhere. He brushed his finger across John's perineum and then hovered over his hole. "Relax and just keep thinking about what your hand's doing," he leaned over and kissed the tip of John's cock softly as he very slowly pushed one finger inside.

John breathed out heavily, closing his eyes and trying to feel everything. His own hand moving on his shaft, Sherlock's finger inside of his body, the pillow under his back -- it felt fantastic. "Sherlock . . ." he moaned softly. 

Sherlock moved his finger slowly in and out, holding onto John's leg with his other hand. He leaned over and kissed John's hand. "Do you like the feeling?" he whispered. Sherlock did -- he felt his cock aching.

John nodded. "Feels good," he said. He wanted more. His body needed more.

Sherlock pulled his finger back and then pushed two slowly back in, stretching them apart. "God, John," Sherlock exhaled. "You're gorgeous, I want you so much." He moved his other hand to John's hip, pulling on it slightly, "Rock your hips."

John moved with him, pushing himself onto Sherlock's fingers. "It's so . . . good -- fuck," he moaned, feeling his body relaxing, opening up. 

"Keep moving your hand," Sherlock said as he moved his fingers into John further and a little faster. Sherlock shifted his position. With his free hand, he stroked his cock. "Should we try?" he asked softly.

"Please," John nodded, stroking himself faster. The thought of Sherlock being inside of him like that made his breath shudder. 

Sherlock pulled his fingers back. He rolled on a condom, lined up his cock and pushed in just the tip. "God," he exhaled. He lifted one of John's legs, pushing it towards John's chest. He moved to lean over John, slowly pushing all the way in. He kissed John's cheek quickly. "You okay?" he asked. "You feel so good to me, but I want you to feel good."

John nodded, concentrating on his breathing and the utter fullness that he felt. "Move, please," he begged, shifting his hips lightly. He wanted to feel Sherlock sliding in and out of him. 

Sherlock rested his head next to John's and began rocking his hips slowly. The tightness felt so good. Being inside John felt so good. He kept his movements slow for a few moments and then began to pick up speed. "Lift your legs a little," he panted.

John spread his legs even more and lifted his knees up, groaning as Sherlock slipped deeper inside of him. "Sherlock . . . Jesus," he moaned, bucking up against him. 

"John," Sherlock said as he started to thrust more. "God, you feel so good," he moved his mouth on John's face, panting against his warm skin. He angled his hips and the shift made it easier for him to push in further. "God," he said again, reaching down and gripping one of John's hands.

John gripped his hand hard. "Sherlock . . . it feels . . ., he breathed. "So good inside." He couldn't make proper sentences. His mind was cloudy with pleasure.

Sherlock's body and brain were filled with electricity. He kept hold of John's hand. He wanted to make it last as long as it could, it felt so good, he hadn't wanted this feeling in such a long time. He kept moving, each thrust feeling deeper, moving him deeper inside John.

John's body rocked with every movement, a small moan escaping as Sherlock pushed deep. He slid his free hand down and stroked himself, the tip of his cock rubbing against Sherlock's stomach. 

"John, I can't . . ." Sherlock felt the familiar rising. "I'm going to come, John," and he released all tension and thrust into John and came. His body froze, it felt like forever, and then jerked one final time and he collapsed into John, mouthing his name on his neck. He tried to catch his breath, but all he could do was rest his hand on John's as he stroked.

"Fucking hell," John moaned, coming seconds later. The thought of Sherlock finishing inside of him was too much. He called out for Sherlock as he came all over them, continuing to buck upwards. When it was over he dropped his legs and tried to steady his breathing.

"John, it's been forever . . . god, John, thank you," Sherlock said, still panting a bit but trying to cover John's face with kisses. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Don't move about too much." He was still holding onto John's hand, wet like their bellies from John's orgasm.

John nodded. "I'm okay. Sherlock, it felt good . . . incredible," he said quietly. 

Sherlock looked at John's face, trying to read it. He wanted to be sure. He rested his head on John's shoulder and just lay by him until both of their breathing and bodies settled down. "I love you," he kind of said into John's shoulder.

"I love you, too," John smiled. "Was this my reward, then?" he teased, petting Sherlock's hair. 

"Being with me is your reward," Sherlock said, smiling. "Jesus, John, I feel old now," he said, slowly sliding out of John and sitting up to sort himself. He reached over and grabbed a t-shirt to wipe his hand and belly and then cleaned John up as well. "My body is exhausted."

John nodded. "Strenuous physical activity will do that to you," he smiled. 

"Perhaps I'm poorly again," Sherlock said. "Feel my head. Have I got a fever?" He was smiling as he lifted John's hand to his forehead. "I thought I could trust the doctor I was seeing."

"You're not," John smiled. "Flushed with love," he laughed. "You're not supposed to actually get lovesick, goof."

"Shut your face," Sherlock said, "Don't be mean after that. Don't treat me like one of your lady friends." He stretched against the sheets. "Are we going to get up for something to eat?"

"I was not being mean, thank you. And we can go for food but not just yet, okay? Give me an hour," he said

"That's good," Sherlock said, curling around John's body. "Is everything okay?" he said, softly railing his fingers across John's chest.

"Yes," John nodded. "I just want to rest for a bit."

"Everything okay in your head? I mean, do you feel all right about this new thing . . . it's a very big change for you. . ."

"I know," John smiled. "But I'm okay, honest. I'm . . .marveling, I guess. I lived with you for so long and never felt . . .this. And now it's so intense, you know?"

Sherlock looked up at the ceiling. It was intense. The change for him was about the intimacy. It was what John had wanted, had been chasing, but a need Sherlock thought he had done away with. John had proven him wrong and while he was happy to have it, he had had very good reasons for leaving it behind.

He thought about all that he had said to John over the last few days -- all the things they had done. He wanted the intimacy, the closeness, the difference -- not just in what they did but what they felt. He would just need to be sure to be careful: with his feelings and with John's. "I promise," he mumbled and then realised he'd said it aloud. "I -- it is intense, it's different, but it's good." He went back to tickling John's chest.

"What do you promise?" John asked quietly. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now your powers of observation perk up?" he said.

John swatted his arm lightly. "Please?"

Sherlock looked back up the ceiling again, but kept his hand on John's skin. "This is what you wanted, right? You just didn't think it would be with me . . . you thought it'd be with a woman." He swallowed. "I didn't know that I wanted this, because I had made a choice a long time ago not to. . . I don't regret this, I don't want you to regret it. Let's just . . . be mindful . . . that it's unexpected for both of us."

John nodded. "I will be mindful," he said. "And while I did used to think it would be with a woman, I love you so very much and I don't regret it either."

"Good," Sherlock said. "I hope I don't make you change your mind." He leaned over and kissed John's mouth softly. He curled into him again, pressing his face against John's chest.

"You won't," John smiled, petting his hair again. "How about some dinner?"

"I thought you wanted to sleep? Whatever you want to do is fine, you're the one who worked today. I mostly . . . didn't," Sherlock said.

"I didn't want to sleep," John said. "Just rest up a bit." He sat up and ruffled Sherlock's hair. "Want to go out or shall I just order in?"

"Order in, I don't want to have to get dressed again," Sherlock said, stretching and sitting up. "Be careful moving about. It's not the same doing it as having it done, you know."

"I know," John said, wincing as he stood up. He walked a bit funny, going to find his phone and calling their order. He paid with his card over the phone and hobbled back to bed. "Will you get the door, when it comes?"

"I will," Sherlock said. "you big baby." He sat up and moved the pillows down the bed. "Here, put your feet up." Then he lay back down and said, "Let me hold your hand" as he picked up John's hand and stroked the skin before lifting it and kissing it softly.

"You're so good to me," John grinned. "I'm really such a lucky guy."

"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "You're likely the only person in the world who'd think that. But I'm glad you do." He drew a circle on John's hand with his finger. "And I intend to remind you of that statement the next time I annoy you. Which I will. Because you know I do."

John smiled. "That's okay, because now you have much better rewards to give me for putting up with you," he teased. 

Sherlock squeezed John. "Do you think you'll let me do that again or do you just like doing it to me? It's okay, whatever you want to do."

"We can take turns, I think," he smiled. "I quite liked both. Did you prefer a certain one?"

"It depends on how I'm feeling, I suppose. Do you promise to be honest if I want to do something and you don't, even if it's just that you're not in the mood at the moment?"

John nodded. "I promise," he said. "But you have to be honest as well, yeah?"

"I will always be honest with you," Sherlock said. "Unless I don't want to be and then I promise to at least not be dishonest."

John nodded, pecking his lips. "Good."

Sherlock heard a noise at the door. "Are we eating up here or downstairs?" he asked as he got up and put on his dressing gown.

"Hmm . . . up here. I don't want to get dressed either and I don't fancy Mrs. Hudson coming in," he grinned. 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I'll be back."

He headed down to the door to get the food. He stopped in the kitchen on the way back to get silverware, plates and kitchen roll. He took it all back to the bedroom and set it down on the bed. "You make the picnic and I'll go get us something to drink," he told John. He went back to the kitchen and brought back two glasses of water.

John put everything into the plates and arranged it fancy on Sherlock's side, smiling at him when he came up. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"Thank you, John," he replied. He sat down on the bed and picked at his food. "I meant to ask you, did you tell Sarah?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I did. She seemed . . . amused. Like she wasn't surprised," John said, digging into his meal.

"Okay then," Sherlock said. "Now someone knows, it's known. It's not a secret, it's known. I personally do not see the need to announce it." He took a bite of food. "In person or in a blog post." He put the fork back down and pushed the food around. "This is what we are now. That's all we have to do or be, what we are now."

"You don't want to tell anyone?" John asked. 

"Do we need to? You said Sarah wasn't surprised. I don't doubt most people already have their suspicions. And then if they read your little impulsive post . . . I'm just saying, I don't feel the need to show up at a crime scene and announce 'John and I are a couple now.' I don't mean I want it to be a secret. I just mean, let's just be who we are and leave it at that," Sherlock said.

"I suppose you're right," John agreed. "I won't tell anyone else. They can just . . . figure it out," he smiled.

"Is your face saying you are not satisfied with my response? Fine, how about this compromise?" He picked up his phone, typed a text and turned it show John before hitting Send.

_John and I are sleeping together. SH_

"No! Don't send that!" John said quickly. "You can't just . . .say that!"

"Too late," Sherlock said, setting his phone down. It immediately buzzed. He picked it up and read it before setting it down again. He took a sip of water and picked up his plate.

"Who did you send that to? What are they saying?"

Sherlock pushed the phone towards John.

_Tread carefully. MH_

"You told your brother?" John sighed. "Well . . . fine. Can I put something on the blog, then?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I don't want you to."

John sighed. "Okay."

"The blog is about work. This isn't. You told one person, I told one person, and the person I told thinks he controls every other person we know, isn't that enough?"

"If I had known it was a one person deal I would have rather told someone else," John said. 

"Which person would you have chosen?"

"Molly or Lestrade. Mrs Hudson. One of our friends, you know?"

"Why do you feel the need to tell? Do you not think they'll just know when they see us? Or in Mrs Hudson's case, hear us?" he tried to smile.

John shrugged. "I'm happy. I just want to share that. I know they will be excited, happy for us, you know?"

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Sherlock said. "Fine, if it's important, tell whomever you want. Get your phone and tell everyone."

"Well, not if it's going to make you upset, or uncomfortable," he said. "I was just saying. They will be happy when they find out on their own, too."

"I'm not upset. John, you should tell whomever you want. That's fine," Sherlock said and before John could interrupt, he added, "I said I would not be dishonest." He looked down at his food. "I just don't want you to be disappointed when perhaps not everyone is as happy about this as you are."

John looked down and mixed his food around. "I know some people are going to be idiots about it, I'm not stupid. But I don't care about them, what they think," he shrugged. "I guess I didn't even think about them."

"I don't mean that," Sherlock said. "I mean our friends. They care about you, they don't want you to be hurt."

"But they would see how happy I am," he smiled. "They will see for themselves, it's okay."

"I don't want to be the one who hurts you, John," Sherlock said softly now. "I promise to try not to hurt you." He reached over and touched John's leg gently.

John reached over and grabbed his hand. "I know that you won't, Sherlock." He caught his eye and smiled. "Just relax, okay? Let's go back to dinner and forget everyone else."

Sherlock smiled back. He took one last bite of food and washed it down with a sip of water. He set his plate on the bedside table. "I'm going to make us some tea," he said.

He stood up and went to the bathroom first. He brushed his teeth and looked in the mirror. He hoped he could do this right. He hoped he could be different. He didn't want to be the one who hurt John. He walked down to the kitchen and turned on the kettle.

John sighed and leaned back against the headboard. After all this time it was still so hard to know what was going through his mind. He put his plate on the bedside table and lay across Sherlock's pillow, taking a deep breath. He wished he could make Sherlock see just how happy was already. 

Sherlock carried two mugs of tea back up to the bedroom. He set one on each bedside table. He got back into bed and slipped his arms around John. "I do love seeing you in my bed," he said. "I do love you."

John curled against him and smiled. "I love you, too. I like being here."

"Will you sleep in here?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course I will. Why wouldn't I?" John smiled. "Your arms are very cozy."

"Good," Sherlock said, squeezing John. "Do you need to set your alarm? Or shall I set mine?"

"I don't work until Monday now," he smiled. 

"That's excellent news, John," Sherlock said. "Are we going to go to sleep after we finish our tea?"

John nodded. "We could. I am tired," he admitted. 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "It's important for the elderly to get their sleep, I know." He smiled at John. Sherlock sat up and drank his tea.

John pinched his arm, grinning at him as he sipped his tea. 

"Don't be violent," Sherlock scolded. "Or I won't cuddle you to sleep."

"Then don't be mean or I won't cuddle you to sleep," John laughed. 

Sherlock put his mug on the bedside table and turned off his light. "I'm ready for cuddling when you are."

John took a few more minutes to finish his tea before laying down and opening his arms dramatically. "Ready," he smiled. 

Sherlock slipped into John's arms. He pressed his face into John's neck. "We can't spend forever in bed, I know," he said, "but I love being here with you."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and rest hid own head on Sherlock's. "I know. I could as well. I'm an excellent bed partner," he teased. 

"You are," Sherlock said. "You let me do things to you and I like that."

John chuckled. "You're excellent, too. Like I said, very comfortable. And warm."

"Will you spoon me? I know I'm taller but still . . . will you?"

"Yeah, of course," John said. He helped Sherlock turn onto his side and then, after wrapping his arm around Sherlock's waist, he pressed his forehead between his shoulder blades. 

"You're good, John Watson," Sherlock said softly, his voice getting sleepier.

John kissed his back lightly. "You too," he murmured. He closed his eyes and sighed happily. 

Sherlock felt John's exhale on his back. He slipped his hand into John's and closed his eyes.

John fell asleep soon after that, nicely curled around Sherlock. 


End file.
